Mr.  Bino:le 


George  Barr 
m  '?Cutcheon 


MR.  SINGLE 


BY  THE  SAME   AUTHOR 

GRAUSTARK 

CASTLE  CRANEYCROW 

BREWSTER'S  MILLIONS 

THE  SHERRODS 

THE  DAT  OF  THE  DOG 

BEVERLY  OF  GRAUSTARK 

THE  PURPLE  PARASOL 

NEDRA 

COWARDICE  COURT 

JANE  CABLE 

THE  FLYERS 

THE  DAUGHTER  OF  ANDERSON  CROW 

THE  HUSBANDS  OF  EDITH 

THE  MAN  FROM  BRODNEY'S 

THE  ALTERNATIVE 

TRUXTON  KING 

THE  BUTTERFLY  MAN 

THE  ROSE  IN  THE  RING 

WHAT  '  s-  HIS-NAME 

MARY  MIDTHORNE 

HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

THE  HOLLOW  OF  HER  HANDS 

A  FOOL  AND  His  MONEY 

BLACK  Is  WHITE 

THE  PRINCE  OF  GRAUSTARK 

MR.  BINGLE 


MR.   BINGLE 


BY 
GEORGE  BARR  McCUTCHEON 

Author  of  "Graustark,"  "The  Hollow  of  Her  Hand, 
"The  Prince  of  Graustark,"  etc. 


With  Illustrations  by 
JAMES  MONTGOMERY  FLAGG 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1915 


COPYRIGHT,  1915,  BY 
DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  .  PAGE 

I  THE   FIVE   LITTLE   SYKESES     .      .1      ...        1 

II  RELATING  TO  AN  ODD  RELATION    .      .      .     21 

III  THE  DEATH  OF  UNCLE  JOE     .      .  41 

IV  FORTY  MINUTES  LATE   .      .....      60 

V  THE  STORY  OP  JOSEPH       ......      80 

VI  THE     HONORABLE     THOMAS     SINGLETON 

BINGLE 96 

VII  SEARCHERS  REWARDED   .......   122 

VIII  THE  AFFAIRS   OF   AMY   AND   DICK     .      .    147 

IX  THE  MAN  CALLED  HINMAN     .      .      .      .164 

X  MR.    BINGLE    THINKS    OF    BECOMING    AN 

ANGEL        .      .      .      .      .,  .      .186 

XI  A  TIMELY  LESSON  IN  LOVE     .     :.  205 

XII  THE  BIRTH  OF  NAPOLEON         .     ,..     .          224 

XIII  TROUBLE,   TROUBLE,   TROUBLE!      .      .      .251 

XIV  THE   LAW'S  LAST  WORD     ......   270 

XV  DECEMBER ;     .....   294 

XVI     ANOTHER  CHRISTMAS  EVE    .,      .      ,;     .      .314 
XVII     THE  LAST  TO  ARRIVE     .      .  .   337 


M22186 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Mr.   B ingle .     Frontispiece 


FACING 
PAGE 


The  "  kiddies  "  kept  their  eyes  and  ears  open  and 
sat  very  still  while  he  read  to  them  of  Tiny 
Tim  and  his  friends 12 

"  That's  the  kind  of  a  doctor  to  have/'  said  Uncle 

Joe 52 

Amy  Fairweather  and  Flanders 142 

"  Lest   they   forget/'   said   Diggs,   leaning   over   to 

speak  softly  in  Mr.   Bingle's  ear   ......   336 


MR.  BINGLE 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    FIVE    LITTLE    SYKESES 


A  COAL  fire  crackled  cheerily  in  the  little  open  grate 
that  supplied  warmth  to  the  steam-heated  living- 
room  in  the  modest  apartment  of  Mr.  Thomas  S. 
Bingle,  lower  New  York,  somewhere  to  the  west  of 
Fifth  Avenue  and  not  far  removed  from  Washington 
Square  —  in  the  wrong  direction,  however,  if  one 
must  be  precise  in  the  matter  of  emphasising  the 
social  independence  of  the  Bingle  family  —  and  be  it 
here  recorded  that  without  the  genial  aid  of  that 
grate  of  coals  the  living-room  would  have  been  a 
cheerless  place  indeed.  Mr.  Bingle  had  spent  most 
of  the  evening  in  trying  to  coax  heat  from  the  lower 
regions  into  the  pipes  of  the  seventh  heaven  wherein 
he  dwelt,  and  without  the  slightest  sign  of  success. 
The  frigid  coils  in  the  corner  of  the  room  remained 
obdurate.  If  they  indicated  the  slightest  symptom 
of  warmth  during  the  evening,  it  was  due  entirely  to 
the  expansive  generosity  of  the  humble  grate  and  not 
because  they  were  moved  by  inward  remorse.  They 
were  able,  however,  to  supply  the  odour  of  far-off 
steam,  as  of  an  abandoned  laundry;  and  sometimes 
they  chortled  meanly,  revealing  signs  of  an  energy 
that  in  anything  but  a  steam  pipe  might  have  been 

mistaken  for  a  promise  to  do  better. 

1 


2  MR.  BINGLE 

Mr.  Bingle  poked  the  fire  and  looked  at  his  watch. 
Then  he  crossed  to  the  window,  drew  the  curtains  and 
shade  aside  and  tried  to  peer  through  the  frosty 
panes  into  the  street,  seven  stories  below.  A  holly 
wreath  hung  suspended  in  the  window,  completely 
obscured  from  view  on  one  side  by  hoar  frost,  on  the 
other  by  a  lemon-coloured  window  shade  that  had  to 
be  handled  with  patience  out  of  respect  for  a  lapsed 
spring  at  the  top.  He  scraped  a  peep-hole  in  the 
frosty  surface,  and,  after  drying  his  fingers  on  his 
smoking  jacket,  looked  downward  with  eyes  a-squint. 

"  Do  sit  down,  Tom,"  said  his  wife  from  her  chair 
by  the  fireplace.  "  A  watched  pot  never  boils.  You 
can't  see  them  from  the  window,  in  any  event." 

"  I  can  see  the  car  when  it  stops  at  the  corner,  my 
dear,"  said  Mr.  Single,  enlarging  the  peep-hole  with 
a  vigour  that  appeared  to  be  aggravated  by  advice. 
"  Melissa  said  seven  o'clock  and  it  is  four  minutes 
after  now." 

"  You  forget  that  Melissa  didn't  start  until  after 
she  had  cleared  away  the  dinner  things.  She  — " 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  he  interrupted,  still  peering. 
"  But  that  was  an  hour  ago,  Mary.  I  think  a  car  is 
stopping  at  the  corner  now.  No !  It  didn't  stop, 
so  there  must  have  been  some  one  waiting  to  get  on 
instead  of  off." 

"  Do  come  and  sit  down.  You  are  as  fidgety  as  a 
child." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  turning  away  from 
the  window  with  a  shiver,  "  how  I  pity  the  poor  un- 


THE  FIVE  LITTLE  SYKESES  3 

fortunates  who  haven't  a  warm  fire  to  sit  beside  to 
night.  It  is  going  to  be  the  coldest  night  in  twenty 
years,  according  to  the  —  there!  Did  you  hear 
that?  "  He  stepped  to  the  window  once  more.  The 
double  ring  of  a  street-car  bell  had  reached  his  ears, 
and  he  knew  that  a  car  had  stopped  at  the  corner 
below.  "  According  to  the  weather  report  this  after 
noon,"  he  concluded,  re-crossing  the  room  to  sit  down 
beside  the  fire,  very  erect  and  expectant,  a  smile  on 
his  pinched,  eager  face.  He  was  watching  the  hall 
door. 

It  was  Christmas  Eve.  There  were  signs  of  the 
season  in  every  corner  of  the  plain  but  cosy  little  sit 
ting-room.  Mistletoe  hung  from  the  chandelier ;  gay 
bunting  and  strands  of  gold  and  silver  tinsel  draped 
the  bookcase  and  the  writing  desk ;  holly  and  myrtle 
covered  the  wall  brackets,  and  red  tissue  paper 
shaded  all  of  the  electric  light  globes ;  big  candles  and 
little  candles  flickered  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  some 
were  red  and  some  were  white  and  yet  others  were 
green  and  blue  with  the  paint  that  Mr.  Bingle  had 
applied  with  earnest  though  artless  disregard  for 
subsequent  odours ;  packages  done  up  in  white  and 
tied  with  red  ribbon,  neatly  double-bowed,  formed  a 
significant  centrepiece  for  the  ornate  mahogany 
library  table  —  and  one  who  did  not  know  the  Bingles 
would  have  looked  about  in  quest  of  small  fry  with 
popping,  covetous  eyes  and  sleekly  brushed  hair. 
The  alluring  scent  of  gaudily  painted  toys  pervaded 
the  Christmas  atmosphere,  quite  offsetting  the  hint 


4  MR.  BINGLE 

of  steam  from  more  fortunate  depths,  and  one  could 
sniff  the  odour  of  freshly  buttered  pop-corn.  All 
these  signs  spoke  of  children  and  the  proximity  of 
Kris  Kringle,  and  yet  there  were  no  little  Bingles, 
nor  had  there  ever  been  so  much  as  one  I 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingle  were  childless.  The  tragedy 
of  life  for  them  lay  not  in  the  loss  of  a  first-born,  but 
in  the  fact  that  no  babe  had  ever  come  to  fill  their 
hungry  hearts  with  the  food  they  most  desired  and 
craved.  Nor  was  there  any  promise  of  subsequent 
concessions  in  their  behalf.  For  fifteen  years  they 
had  longed  for  the  boon  that  was  denied  them,  and  to 
the  end  of  their  simple,  kindly  days  they  probably 
would  go  on  longing.  Poor  as  they  were,  neither 
would  have  complained  if  fate  had  given  them  half- 
a-dozen  healthy  mouths  to  feed,  as  many  wriggling 
bodies  to  clothe,  and  all  the  splendid  worries  that  go 
with  colic,  croup,  measles,  mumps,  broken  arms  and 
all  the  other  ailments,  peculiar,  not  so  much  to  child 
hood  as  they  are  paramount  to  parenthood. 

Lonely,  incomplete  lives  they  led,  with  no  bitter 
ness  in  their  souls,  loving  each  other  the  more  as  they 
tried  to  fill  the  void  with  songs  of  resignation.  Away 
back  in  the  early  days  Mr.  Bingle  had  said  that 
Christmas  was  a  bleak  thing  without  children  to  lift 
the  pall  —  or  something  of  the  sort. 

Out  of  that  well-worn  conclusion  —  oft  expressed 
by  rich  and  poor  alike  —  grew  the  Bingle  Founda 
tion,  so  to  speak.  No  Christmas  Eve  was  allowed  to 
go  by  without  the  presence  of  alien  offspring  about 


THE  FIVE  LITTLE  SYKESES  5 

their  fire-lit  hearth,  and  no  strange  little  kiddie  ever 
left  for  his  own  bed  without  treasuring  in  his  soul  the 
belief  that  he  had  seen  Santa  Claus  at  last  —  had 
been  kissed  by  him,  too  —  albeit  the  plain-faced,  wist 
ful  little  man  with  the  funny  bald-spot  was  in  no  sense 
up  to  the  preconceived  opinions  of  what  the  roly- 
poly,  white- whiskered,  red-cheeked  annual  visitor 
from  Lapland  ought  to  be  in  order  to  make  dreams 
come  true. 

The  Bingles  were  singularly  nephewless,  nieceless, 
cousinless.  There  was  no  kindly-disposed  relative  to 
whom  they  could  look  for  the  loan  of  a  few  children 
on  Christmas  Eve,  nor  would  their  own  sensitiveness 
permit  them  to  approach  neighbours  or  friends  in  the 
building  with  a  well-meant  request  that  might  have 
met  with  a  chilly  rebuff.  One  really  cannot  go  about 
borrowing  children  from  people  on  the  floor  below 
and  the  floor  above,  especially  on  Christmas  Eve  when 
children  are  so  much  in  demand,  even  in  the  most 
fortunate  of  families.  It  is  quite  a  different  matter 
at  any  other  time  of  the  year.  One  can  always  bor 
row  a  whole  family  of  children  when  the  mother  hap 
pens  to  feel  the  call  of  the  matinee  or  the  woman's 
club,  and  it  is  not  an  uncommon  thing  to  secure 
them  for  a  whole  day  in  mid-December.  But  on 
Christmas  Eve,  never !  And  so  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingle, 
being  without  the  natural  comforts  of  home,  were 
obliged  to  go  out  into  the  world  searching  for  chil 
dren  who  had  an  even  greater  grudge  against  cir 
cumstances.  They  frequently  found  their  guests  of 


6  MR.  BINGLE 

honour  in  places  where  dishonour  had  left  them,  anc 
they  gave  them  a  merry  Christmas  with  no  questions 
asked. 

The  past  two  Christmas  Eves  had  found  their 
rather  providentially  supplied  with  children  aboul 
whom  no  questions  had  ever  been  asked :  the  progem 
of  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sykes.  Mr.  Sykes  being  dead 
the  care  and  support  of  five  lusty  youngsters  fel 
upon  the  devoted  but  far  from  rugged  shoulders  of  £ 
mother  who  worked  as  a  sahr Troman  in  one  of  the  bi£ 
Sixth  Avenue  shops,  and  who  toiled  far  into  the  nighl 
before  Christmas  in  order  that  forgetful  people  mighl 
be  able  to  remember  without  fail  on  the  morning 
thereafter.  She  was  only  too  glad  to  lend  her  famil} 
to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingle.  More  than  that,  she  was 
ineffably  glad,  on  her  own  account,  that  it  was  Christ 
mas  Eve;  it  signified  the  close  of  a  diabolical  seasor 
of  torture  at  the  hands  of  a  public  that  believes 
firmly  in  "  peace  on  earth  "  but  hasn't  the  faintesl 
conception  of  what  "  good  will  toward  men  "  means 
when  it  comes  to  shopping  at  Christmas-time. 

Mrs.  Sykes'  sister  Melissa  had  been  maid-of-all- 
work  in  the  modest  establishment  of  Mr.  and  Mrs 
Bingle  for  a  matter  of  three  years  and  a  half.  II 
was  she  who  suggested  the  Sykes  family  as  a  happj 
solution  to  the  annual  problem,  and  Mr.  Bingle  al 
most  hugged  her  for  being  so  thoroughly  competenl 
and  considerate? 

It  isn't  every  servant,  said  he,  who  thinks  of  the 
comfort  of  her  employers.  Most  of  'em,  said  he,  in- 


THE  FIVE  LITTLE  SYKESES  7 

sist  on  going  to  a  chauffeurs'  ball  or  something  of 
the  sort  on  Christmas  Eve,  but  here  was  a  jewel-like 
daughter  of  Martha  who  actually  put  the  interests 
of  her  master  and  mistress  above  her  own,  and  com 
plained  not !  And  what  made  it  all  the  more  incom 
prehensible  to  him  was  the  fact  that  Melissa  was  quite 
a  pretty  girl.  There  was  no  reason  in  the  world  why 
she  shouldn't  have  gone  to  the  ball  and  had  a  good 
time  instead  of  thinking  of  them  in  their  hours  of 
trouble.  But  here  she  was,  actually  going  out  of  her 
way  to  be  kind  to  her  employers:  supplying  a  com 
plete  family  for  Christmas  Eve  purposes  and  never 
uttering  a  word  of  complaint ! 

The  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  prettier  she  became. 
He  mentioned  it  to  his  wife  and  she  agreed  with  him. 
Melissa  was  much  too  pretty,  said  Mrs.  Bingle,  en 
tirely  without  animus.  And  she  was  really  quite  a 
stylish  sort  of  girl,  too,  when  she  dressed  up  to  go 
out  of  a  Sunday.  Much  more  so,  indeed,  than  Mrs. 
Bingle  herself,  who  had  to  scrimp  and  pinch  as  all 
good  housewives  do  if  they  want  to  succeed  to  a  new 
dress  once  a  year. 

Melissa  had  something  of  an  advantage  over  her 
mistress  in  that  she  received  wages  and  was  entitled 
to  an  afternoon  off  every  fortnight.  Mrs.  Bingle 
did  quite  as  much  work  about  the  house,  ate  prac 
tically  the  same  food,  slept  not  half  so  soundly,  had 
all  the  worry  of  making  both  ends  meet,  practised  a 
rigid  and  necessary  economy,  took  no  afternoons  off, 
and  all  without  pecuniary  compensation  —  wherein 


8  MR.  BINGLE 

rests  support  for  the  contention  that  Melissa  had  the 
better  of  her  mistress  when  all  is  said  and  done. 
Obviously,  therefore,  Mrs.  Bingle  was  not  as  well  off 
as  her  servant.  True,  she  sat  in  the  parlour  while 
Melissa  sa't  in  the  kitchen,  but  to  offset  this  distinc 
tion,  Melissa  could  sing  over  her  pans  and  dishes. 

Mr.  Bingle,  good  soul,  insisted  on  keeping  a  serv 
ant,  despite  the  strain  on  his  purse,  for  no  other 
reason  than  that  he  couldn't  bear  the  thought  of 
leaving  Mrs.  Bingle  alone  all  day  while  he  was  at  the 
bank.  (Lest  there  should  be  some  apprehension,  it 
should  be  explained  that  he  was  a  bookkeeper  at  a 
salary  of  one  hundred  dollars  a  month,  arrived  at 
after  long  and  faithful  service,  and  that  Melissa  had 
but  fifteen  dollars  a  month,  food  and  bed.)  Melissa 
was  company  for  Mrs.  Bingle,  and  her  unfailing  good 
humour  extended  to  Mr.  Bingle  when  he  came  home  to 
dinner,  tired  as  a  dog  and  in  need  of  cheer.  She 
joined  in  the  table-talk  with  unresented  freedom  and 
she  never  failed  to  laugh  heartily  over  Mr.  Bingle's 
inspired  jokes.  Altogether,  Melissa  was  well  worth 
her  wage.  She  was  sunshine  and  air  to  the  stifled 
bookkeeper  and  his  wife. 

And  now,  for  the  third  time,  she  was  bringing  the 
five  rollicking  Sykeses  to  the  little  flat  beyond  Wash 
ington  Square,  and  for  the  thousandth  time  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bingle  wondered  how  such  a  treasure  as  Melissa 
had  managed  to  keep  out  of  heaven  all  these  years. 

Mr.  Bingle  opened  the  front  door  with  a  great  deal 
of  ceremony  the  instant  the  rickety  elevator  came  to 


THE  FIVE  LITTLE  SYKESES  9 

a  stop  at  the  seventh  floor,  and  gave  greeting  to  the 
five  Sykeses  on  the  dark,  narrow  landing.  He  men 
tioned  each  by  name  and  very  gravely  shook  their 
red-mittened  paws  as  they  sidled  past  him  with  eager, 
bulging  eyes  that  saw  only  the  Christmas  trappings 
in  the  room  beyond. 

"  Merry  Christmas,"  said  the  five,  not  quite  in  one 
voice  but  with  well-rehearsed  vehemence,  albeit  two 
tiny  ones,  in  rapt  contemplation  of  things  beyond, 
quite  neglected  their  duty  until  severely  nudged  by 
Melissa,  whereupon  they  said  it  in  a  shrill  treble  at 
least  six  times  without  stopping. 

"  I  am  very  pleased  to  see  you  all,"  said  Mr. 
Bingle,  beaming.  "  Won't  you  take  off  your  things 
and  stay  awhile  ?  " 

It  was  what  he  always  said  to  them,  and  they  al 
ways  said,  "  Yes,  thank  you,"  following  out  instruc 
tions  received  on  the  way  down  town,  and  then,  in 
some  desperation,  added,  "  Mr.  Bingle,"  after  a 
sententious  whisper  from  their  aunt. 

They  were  a  rosy,  clean-scrubbed  lot,  these  little 
Sykeses.  Their  mother  may  not  have  fared  overly 
well  herself,  but  she  had  contrived  to  put  flesh  and 
fat  on  the  bones  of  her  progeny,  and  you  would  go 
a  long  way  before  you  would  find  a  plumper,  merrier 
group  of  children  than  those  who  came  to  the  Bingle 
flat  on  Christmas  Eve  in  their  very  best  garments 
and  with  their  very  best  appetites.  The  eldest  was 
ten,  the  youngest  four,  and  it  so  happened  that  the 
beginning  and  the  end  of  the  string  were 


10  MR.  BINGLE 

the  three  in  between  being  Mary,  Maud,  and  Kate. 

Mrs.  Bingle  helped  them  off  with  their  coats  and 
caps  and  mufflers,  then  hugged  them  and  lugged  them 
up  to  the  fire,  while  Melissa  removed  her  skunk  tip 
pet,  her  poney  coat  and  a  hat  that  would  have  created 
envy  in  the  soul  of  a  less  charitable  creature  than  the 
mistress  of  the  house. 

"  And  now,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  confronting  the 
group,  "  who  made  you?  " 

"  God,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said  the  five  Sykeses,  very 
much  after  the  habit  of  a  dog  that  is  ordered  to 
"  speak." 

"  And  who  was  it  that  said,  '  Suffer  little  children 
to  come  unto  me?  ' 

"  Jesus,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said  the  five  Sykeses,  eyeing 
the  pile  on  the  table. 

"  And  where  do  you  expect  to  go  when  you  die?  " 
demanded  Mr.  Bingle,  with  great  severity. 

"  Heaven !  "  shouted  the  perfectly  healthy  Sykeses. 

"  How  is  your  mother,  Mary?  "  asked  Mrs.  Bingle, 
always  a  rational  woman. 

Mary  bobbed.  "  She's  working,  ma'am,"  said  she, 
and  that  was  all  she  knew  about  her  mother's  state 
of  health. 

"Are  you  cold?"  inquired  Mr.  Bingle,  herding 
them  a  little  closer  to  the  grate. 

"  Yes,"  said  two  of  the  Sykeses. 

"  Sir,"  admonished  Melissa. 

"  Sir!"  said  all  of  the  Sykeses. 

"  Now,  draw  up  the  chairs,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  clear- 


THE  FIVE  LITTLE  SYKESES  11 

ing  his  throat.  "  Mary,  you'd  better  take  Kate  and 
Georgie  on  your  lap,  and  suppose  you  hold  Maud, 
Melissa.  It  will  be  more  cosy."  This  was  his  way 
of  overcoming  the  shortage  in  chairs. 

Now,  it  was  Mr.  Bingle's  custom  to  read  "  The 
Christmas  Carol "  on  Christmas  Eve.  It  was  his 
creed,  almost  his  religion,  this  heart-breaking  tale  by 
Dickens.  Not  once,  but  a  thousand  times,  he  had 
proclaimed  that  if  all  men  lived  up  to  the  teachings 
of  "The  Christmas  Carol"  the  world  would  be 
sweeter,  happier,  nobler,  and  the  churches  could  be 
put  to  a  better  use  than  at  present,  considering  (as 
he  said)  that  they  now  represent  assembling  places 
for  people  who  read  neither  Dickens  nor  the  Scrip 
ture  but  sing  with  considerable  intelligence.  It  was 
his  contention  that  "  The  Christmas  Carol "  teaches 
a  good  many  things  that  the  Church  overlooks  in  its 
study  of  Christ,  and  that  the  surest  way  to  make 
good  men  out  of  all  boys  is  to  get  at  their  hearts 
while  their  souls  are  fresh  and  simple.  Put  the  New 
Testament  and  "  The  Christmas  Carol "  in  every 
boy's  hand,  said  he,  and  they  will  create  a  religion 
that  has  something  besides  faith  for  a  foundation. 
One  sometimes  forgets  that  Christ  was  crucified,  but 
no  one  ever  forgets  what  happened  to  Old  Scrooge, 
and  as  Mr.  Bingle  read  his  Bible  quite  assiduously  it 
is  only  fair  to  assume  that  he  appreciated  the  rela- 
tiveness  of  "  The  Christmas  Carol  "  to  the  greatest 
Book  in  all  the  world. 

For  twenty  years  or  more,  he  had  not  once  failed 


12  MR.  BINGLE 

to  read  "  The  Carol "  on  Christmas  Eve.  He  knew 
the  book  by  heart.  Is  it  any  wonder,  then,  that  he 
was  a  gentle,  sweet-natured  man  in  whom  not  the 
faintest  symptom  of  guile  existed?  And,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  it  any  wonder  that  he  remained  a 
bookkeeper  in  a  bank  while  other  men  of  his  acquaint 
ance  went  into  business  and  became  rich  and  arro 
gant?  Of  course,  it  is  necessary  to  look  at  the  ques 
tion  from  both  directions,  and  for  that  reason  I  men 
tion  the  fact  that  he  remained  a  bookkeeper  while 
those  who  scorned  "  The  Christmas  Carol "  became 
drivers  of  men. 

Experience  —  and  some  sage  conclusions  on  the 
part  of  his  wife  —  had  taught  him,  after  years  of 
unsatisfactory  practice,  that  it  was  best  to  read  the 
story  before  giving  out  presents  to  the  immature 
guests.  On  a  great  many  occasions,  the  youngsters 
—  in  those  early  days  they  were  waifs  —  either  went 
sound  asleep  before  he  was  half  way  through  or  be 
came  so  restless  and  voracious  that  he  couldn't  keep 
his  place  in  the  book,  what  with  watching  to  see  that 
they  didn't  choke  on  the  candy,  break  the  windows 
or  mirrors  with  their  footballs,  or  put  some  one's  eye 
out  with  a  pop-gun. 

Of  late  he  had  been  reading  the  story  first  and  dis 
tributing  the  "  goodies "  and  toys  afterward.  It 
was  a  splendid  arrangement.  The  "  kiddies  "  kept 
their  eyes  and  ears  open  and  sat  very  still  while  he 
read  to  them  of  Tiny  Tim  and  his  friends.  And 
when  Mr.  Single  himself  grinned  shamefacedly 


The  "kiddies"  kept  their  eyes  and  ears  open  and  sat 
very  still  while  he  read  to  them  of  Tiny  Tim  and  his 


THE  FIVE  LITTLE  SYKESES  13 

through  his  tears  and  choked  up  so  that  the  words 
would  not  come  without  being  resolutely  forced 
through  a  tightened  throat,  the  sympathetic  audi 
ence,  including  Mrs.  Bingle  and  Melissa  —  and  on 
one  occasion  an  ancient  maiden  from  the  floor  above 
—  wept  copiously  and  with  the  most  flattering 
clamour. 

A  small  reading-lamp  stood  on  the  broad  arm  of 
his  chair,  which  faced  the  expectant  group.  Mr. 
Bingle  cleared  his  throat,  wiped  his  spectacles,  and 
then  peered  over  the  rims  to  see  that  all  were  attend 
ing.  Five  rosy  faces  glistened  with  the  sheen  of 
health  and  soap  lately  applied  with  great  force  by 
the  proud  but  relentless  Melissa. 

"  Take  off  your  ear-muffs,  James,"  said  Mr.  Bingle 
to  the  eldest  Sykes,  who  immediately  turned  a  fiery 
red  and  shrank  down  in  his  chair  bitterly  to  hate  his 
brothers  and  sisters  for  snickering  at  him.  "  There ! 
That's  much  better." 

"  They're  new,  Mr.  Bingle,"  explained  Melissa. 
"  He  hasn't  had  'em  off  since  yesterday,  he  likes  'em 
so  much.  Put  'em  in  your  pocket,  Jimmy.  And 
now  listen  to  Mr.  Bingle.  Are  you  sure  they  ain't 
too  heavy  for  you,  ma'am?  Georgie's  getting  pretty 
big  —  oh,  excuse  me,  sir." 

Mr.  Bingle  took  up  the  well-worn,  cherished  book 
and  turned  to  the  first  page  of  the  text.  He  cleared 
his  throat  again  —  and  again.  Hesitation  at  a  time 
like  this  was  unusual ;  he  was  clearly,  suddenly  irreso 
lute.  His  gaze  lingered  for  a  moment  on  the  white 


14  MR.  SINGLE 

knob  of  a  door  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  and 
then  shifted  to  his  wife's  face. 

"  I  wonder,  my  dear,  if  Uncle  Joe  couldn't  be  per 
suaded  to  come  in  and  listen  to  the  reading,"  he  ven 
tured,  a  wistful  gleam  in  his  eyes.  "  He's  been  feel 
ing  better  the  last  few  days.  It  might  cheer  him  — " 

"  Cheer  your  granny,"  said  Mrs.  Bingle  scornfully. 
"  It's  no  use.  I  asked  him  just  before  dinner  and 
he  said  he  didn't  believe  in  happiness,  or  something 
to  that  effect." 

"He  is  the  limit,"  said  Melissa  flatly.  "The 
worst  grouch  I've  ever  seen,  Mr.  Bingle,  even  if  he 
is  your  own  flesh  and  blood  uncle.  He's  almost  as 
bad  as  Old  Scrooge." 

"  He  is  a  sick  man,"  explained  Mr.  Bingle,  lower 
ing  his  voice ;  "  and  he  hasn't  known  very  much  hap 
piness  in  his  lifetime,  so  I  suppose  we  ought  to 
overlook  —  er,  ahem!  Let  me  see,  where  was  I?" 
He  favoured  young  Mary  Sykes  with  a  genial  grin. 
"Where  was  I,  Mary?" 

Mary  saw  her  chance.  Without  a  trace  of  shame 
or  compunction,  she  said  page  seventy-eight,  and 
then  the  three  grown  people  coughed  in  great  em 
barrassment. 

"  You  sha'n't  come  next  Christmas,"  whispered 
Melissa  very  fiercely  into  Mary's  ear,  so  ominously, 
in  fact,  that  Mary's  lip  began  to  tremble. 

"  Page  one,"  she  amended,  in  a  very  small  voice. 
James  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair,  and  Mary  avoided 
his  gaze. 


THE  FIVE  LITTLE  SYKESES  15 

"  I  believe  I'll  step  in  and  ask  Uncle  Joe  if  he  won't 
change  his  mind,"  said  Mr.  Bingle.  "I  —  I  don't 
believe  he  has  ever  read  the  Christmas  Carol.  And 
he  is  so  lonely,  so  —  er  —  so  at  odds  with  the  world 
that—" 

"  Don't  bother  him,  Tom,"  said  his  wife.  "  Get 
on  with  the  reading.  The  children  are  impatient." 
She  completed  the  sentence  in  a  yawn. 

Mr.  Bingle  began.  He  read  very  slowly  and  very 
impressively  at  first,  but  gradually  warmed  up  to  the 
two-hour  task.  In  a  very  few  minutes  he  was  going 
along  rapidly,  almost  monotonously,  with  scant  re 
gard  for  effect  save  at  the  end  of  sentences,  the  ulti 
mate  word  being  pronounced  with  distinct  emphasis. 
Page  after  page  was  turned;  the  droning  sound  of 
his  voice  went  on  and  on,  with  its  clock-like  inflec 
tions  at  the  end  of  sentences ;  the  revived  crackle  of 
coals  lent  spirit  to  an  otherwise  dreary  solo,  and  al 
ways  it  was  Melissa  who  poked  the  grate  and  at  the 
same  time  rubbed  her  leg  to  renew  the  circulation  that 
had  been  checked  by  the  limp  weight  of  Katie  Sykes ; 
the  deep  sighs  of  Mrs.  Bingle  and  the  loud  yawns  of 
the  older  children  relieved  the  monotony  of  sound 
from  time  to  time ;  and  the  cold  wind  whistled  shrilly 
round  the  corners  of  the  building,  causing  the  young 
sters  to  wonder  how  Santa  was  enduring  the  frost 
during  his  tedious  wait  at  the  top  of  the  chimney  pot. 
Mrs.  Bingle  shifted  the  occupants  of  her  lap  more 
and  more  often  as  the  tale  ran  on,  and  with  little 
attempt  to  do  so  noiselessly;  Mary's  feet  went  to 


16  MR.  BINGLE 

sleep,  and  James  fidgeted  so  violently  that  twice  Mr. 
Bingle  had  to  look  at  him.  But  eventually  he  came 
to  the  acutely  tearful  place  in  the  story,  and  then 
he  was  at  his  best.  Indeed,  he  quite  thrilled  his  hear 
ers,  who  became  all  attention  and  blissfully  lachry 
mose.  Mrs.  Bingle  sobbed,  Melissa  rubbed  her  eyes 
violently,  Mr.  Bingle  choked  up  and  could  scarcely 
read  for  the  tightening  in  his  throat,  and  the  chil 
dren  watched  him  through  solemn,  dripping  eyes  and 
hung  on  every  word  that  told  of  the  regeneration  of 
Scrooge  and  the  sad  happiness  of  Tiny  Tim.  And 
finally  Mr.  Bingle,  as  hoarse  as  a  crow  and  faint  with 
emotion,  closed  the  book  and  lowered  it  gently  to  his 
knee. 

"  There !  "  he  said.  "  There's  a  lesson  for  you. 
Don't  you  feel  better  for  it,  young  ladies  and  gentle 
men?  " 

"  I  always  cry,"  said  Mary  Sykes,  with  a  glance 
of  defiance  at  her  eldest  brother,  who  made  a  fine 
show  of  glowering. 

"  Everybody  cries  over  Tiny  Tim,"  said  Melissa. 
"  As  frequent  as  I've  heard  Mr.  Bingle  read  that 
story  I  can't  help  crying,  knowing  all  the  time  it's 
only  a  novel.  It  seems  to  me  I  cry  a  little  worse 
every  time  it's  read.  Don't  you  think  I  do,  ma'am? 
Didn't  you  notice  that  I  cried  a  little  more  this  time 
than  I  did  last  year?  " 

"  It  touches  the  heart-strings,"  said  Mr.  Bingle, 
blowing  his  nose  so  fiercely  that  Georgie  whimpered 
again,  coming  out  of  a  doze.  "  I'll  bet  my  head, 


THE  FIVE  LITTLE  SYKESES  IT 

dear,  that  Uncle  Joe  would  sniffle  as  much  as  any  of 
us.  I  wish  —  er  —  I  do  wish  we'd  asked  him  to 
come  in.  It  would  do  him  a  world  of  good  to  shed  a 
few  tears." 

"  He  hasn't  a  tear  in  the  whole  hulk  of  him,"  said 
Mrs.  Bingle,  sorrowfully. 

"  Poor  old  man,"  said  Melissa,  relenting  a  bit. 

"  I  bet  I  know  what  he's  doing,"  said  James 
brightly. 

"Doing?  What  is  he  doing,  James?"  demanded 
Mr.  Bingle,  surprised  by  the  youngster's  declara 
tion. 

"  You  can't  fool  me.  I  bet  he's  out  there  dressing 
up  to  play  Santa  Claus." 

"  Dear  me ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Bingle,  blinking. 
The  thought  of  crabbed  Uncle  Joe  taking  on  the 
habiliments  of  the  genial  saint  was  too  much  for  his 
imagination.  It  left  him  without  the  power  to  set 
James  straight  in  the  matter,  and  Uncle  Joe  was 
immediately  accepted  as  Santy  by  the  expectant 
Sykeses,  all  of  whom  revealed  a  tremendous  interest 
in  the  avuncular  absentee.  They  even  appeared  to 
be  properly  apprehensive,  and  crowded  a  little  closer 
to  the  knees  of  the  grown-ups,  all  the  while  eyeing 
the  door  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room. 

Melissa's  involuntary  snort  was  not  enlightening 
to  the  children,  but  it  served  as  a  spur  to  Mr.  Bingle, 
who  abruptly  gave  over  being  sentimental  and  set 
about  the  pleasant  task  of  distributing  the  packages 
on  the  table.  Hilarity  took  the  place  of  a  necessary 


18  MR.  BINGLE 

reserve,  and  before  one  could  say  Jack  Robinson  the 
little  sitting-room  was  as  boisterous  a  place  as  you'd 
find  in  a  month's  j  ourney  and  no  one  would  have  sus 
pected  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingle  were  eating  their 
hearts  out  because  the  noisy  crew  belonged  to  the 
heaven-blest  Mrs.  Sykes  and  not  to  them. 

Ten  o'clock  came.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingle  sat  side 
by  side  in  front  of  the  fireplace,  her  hand  in  his. 
The  floor  was  littered  with  white  tissue  paper,  red 
ribbons,  peanut  hulls  and  other  by-products  of  fes 
tivity  ;  the  rugs  were  scuffled  up  and  hopelessly  awry ; 
chairs  were  out  of  their  accustomed  places  —  two  or 
three  of  them  no  longer  stood  upon  their  legs  as  up 
right  chairs  should  do  —  and  the  hearth  was  strewn 
with  coals  from  an  overturned  scuttle.  Candle 
grease  solidified  on  the  mantelpiece  and  dripped  un 
seen  upon  the  mahogany  bookcase  —  all  unnoticed 
by  the  dreamy,  desolate  Bingles.  They  were  alone 
with  the  annual  wreck.  Melissa  and  the  five  Sykeses 
were  out  in  the  bitter  night,  on  their  frolicksome  way 
to  the  distant  home  of  the  woman  who  had  so  many 
children  she  didn't  know  what  to  do  for  them,  not 
with  them.  They  had  gone  away  with  their  hands 
and  pockets  full,  and  their  stomachs,  too,  and  they 
had  all  been  kissed  and  hugged  and  invited  to  come 
again  without  fail  a  year  from  that  very  night. 

Mr.  Bingle  sighed.  Neither  had  spoken  for  many 
minutes  after  the  elevator  door  slammed  behind  the 
excited,  shrill-voiced  children.  Mr.  Bingle  always 


THE  FIVE  LITTLE  SYKESES  19 

sighed  exactly  at  this  moment  in  his  reflections,  and 
Mrs.  Bingle  always  squeezed  his  hand  fiercely  and 
turned  a  pair  of  darkly  regretful  eyes  upon  him. 

"  I  am  sorry,  dear  heart,"  she  murmured,  and  then 
he  kissed  her  hand  and  said  that  it  was  God's  will. 

"  It  doesn't  seem  right,  when  we  want  them,  need 
them  so  much,"  she  said,  huskily. 

And  then  he  repeated  the  thing  he  always  said  on 
Christmas  Eve :  "  One  of  these  days  I  am  going  to 
adopt  a  —  er  —  a  couple,  Mary,  sure  as  I'm  sitting 
here.  We  just  can't  grow  old  without  having  some 
of  them  about  us.  Some  day  we'll  find  the  right  sort 
of—" 

The  bedroom  door  opened  with  a  squeak,  slowly 
and  with  considerable  caution.  The  gaunt,  bearded 
face  of  a  tall,  stooping  old  man  appeared  in  the 
aperture;  sharp,  piercing  eyes  under  thick  grey  eye 
brows  searched  the  room  in  a  swift,  almost  unfriendly 
glance. 

"  The  infernal  brats  gone,  Tom  ?  "  demanded  Uncle 
Joe  harshly. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingle  stiffened  in  their  chairs. 
The  tall  old  man  came  down  to  the  fireplace,  dis 
gustedly  kicking  a  stray,  crumpled  sheet  of  tissue 
paper  out  of  his  path. 

"  Oh,  they  are  perfect  dears,  Uncle  Joe,"  protested 
Mrs.  Bingle,  trying  her  best  not  to  bristle. 

"  I  wish  you  had  come  in  for  a  look  at  'em  — " 
began  Mr.  Bingle,  but  the  old  man  cut  him  off  with 
a  snort  of  anger. 


20  MR.  BINGLE 

"  Cussed  little  nuisances,"  he  said,  holding  his  thin 
hands  to  the  blaze. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  say  such  things  about 
children  you  don't  know  and  can't — "  began  Mrs. 
B  ingle. 

He  glared  at  her.  "  You  can't  tell  me  anything 
about  children,  Mary.  I'm  the  father  of  three  and 
I  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  Children  are  the 
damnedest  curse  on  earth.  You  ought  to  thank  God 
you  haven't  got  any." 


CHAPTER  II 

EELATING    TO    AN    ODD    RELATION 

Now,  Mr.  Joseph  Hooper  had  excellent  cause  for 
being  a  sour  old  man,  and  in  a  measure  was  to  be 
pitied  because  of  his  attitude  toward  the  young  of  his 
species.  He  had  not  been  well-used  by  his  own  chil 
dren,  although  it  is  no  more  than  right  to  explain 
that  they  were  hardly  what  any  one  save  a  parent 
would  call  children  when  they  turned  against  him. 
At  that  particular  period  in  the  history  of  the 
Hooper  family,  the  youngest  of  Joseph's  three  chil 
dren  was  seventeen,  the  oldest  twenty-two  —  and  it 
so  happens  that  the  crisis  came  just  fifteen  years 
prior  to  the  opening  scene  in  this  tale.  It  did  not 
actually  come  on  Christmas  Eve,  but,  as  a  matter  of 
record,  on  the  21st  of  December  at  about  half-past 
three  in  the  afternoon.  At  that  precise  instant  a 
judge  sitting  on  the  bench  in  one  of  the  courtrooms 
in  New  York  City  signed  the  decree  divorcing  Mrs. 
Joseph  Hooper  from  her  husband,  and  four  minutes 
later  the  lady  walked  out  of  the  building  with  her 
son  and  two  daughters,  all  of  them  having  delib 
erately  turned  their  backs  upon  the  miserable  de 
fendant  in  the  case.  As  all  of  the  children  were  of 
an  age  to  legally  choose  the  parent  with  whom  they 

preferred  to  live,  and  as  they  elected  to  cast  off  the 

21 


22  MR.  BINGLE 

paternal  for  the  maternal,  it  readily  may  be  seen  that 
Mr.  Hooper  was  not  entirely  without  proof  that  this 
is  a  cruel,  heartless,  ungrateful  world  and  filled  with 
gall. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  not  been  wholly  to 
blame  for  the  family  crash,  notwithstanding  a  rather 
loose  respect  on  his  part  for  the  sanctity  of  the  home. 
(It  was  not  to  be  denied  that  he  had  strayed  into 
crooked  paths  and  devious  ways  —  and,  to  do  him 
justice,  he  did  not  attempt  to  deny  it:  he  ventured 
only  to  explain  it.)  According  to  his  version  of  the 
affair,  the  trouble  began  long  before  he  took  to  wine 
and  women.  It  began  with  his  wife's  propensity  for 
nagging.  Being  a  high-spirited,  intelligent  person 
with  a  mind  of  his  own,  Mr.  Hooper  didn't  like  being 
nagged,  and  as  he  rather  harshly  attempted  to  put  a 
stop  to  it  just  as  soon  as  it  dawned  upon  him  that  he 
was  being  hen-pecked,  his  wife,  not  to  be  outdone, 
went  at  it  harder  than  ever.  And  that  is  how  it  all 
began,  and  that  is  why  I  say  that  he  was  not  wholly  to 
blame.  She  was  very  pretty  and  very  peevish,  and 
they  lived  a  cat  and  dog  life  for  ten  years  after  the 
birth  of  the  last  child. 

Mr.  Hooper  took  to  drink  and  then  took  to  stay 
ing  away  from  home  for  days  at  a  time.  It  was  at 
this  stage  of  the  affair  that  the  children  began  to  see 
him  through  their  mother's  eyes.  Certain  disclo 
sures  were  inevitable.  In  a  word,  Mrs.  Hooper  hired 
detectives,  and  finding  herself  in  a  splendid  position 
to  secure  all  she  wanted  in  the  way  of  alimony, 


RELATING  TO  AN  ODD  RELATION     23 

heralded  Mr.  Hooper's  shortcomings  to  the  world. 
The  only  good  that  ever  came  out  of  the  unfortunate 
transaction,  so  far  as  Mr.  Hooper  was  concerned, 
was  to  be  found  in  the  blessed  realisation  that  she 
had  actually  deprived  herself  of  the  right  to  nag  him, 
and  that  was  something  he  knew  would  prove  to  be 
a  constant  source  of  irritation  to  her. 

But  when  his  children  turned  against  him,  "he 
faltered.  He  had  not  counted  on  that.  They  not 
only  went  off  to  live  with  their  mother,  but  they 
virtually  wiped  him  out  of  their  lives,  quite  as  if  he 
had  passed  away  and  no  longer  existed  in  the  flesh. 
The  three  of  them  stood  by  the  mother  —  as  they 
should  have  done,  we  submit,  considering  Mr. 
Hooper's  habits  —  and  shuddered  quite  as  pro 
foundly  as  she  when  the  name  of  the  erring  parent 
was  mentioned  in  their  presence.  Mr.  Hooper 
couldn't  for  the  life  of  him  understand  this  treachery 
on  the  part  of  his  pampered  offspring,  on  whom  he 
had  lavished  everything  and  to  whom  he  had  denied 
nothing  in  the  way  of  luxury.  It  was  hard  for  him 
to  realise  that  he  was  as  much  of  a  scamp  and  scape 
grace  in  their  young  eyes  as  he  was  in  the  eyes  of 
his  wife  —  and  the  whole  of  his  wife's  family,  even  to 
the  remotest  of  cousins. 

In  the  bright  days  of  their  early  married  life,  be 
fore  he  knew  the  difference  between  what  he  looked 
upon  as  affectionate  teasing  and  what  he  afterwards 
came  to  know  as  persistent  nagging,  he  deeded  over 
to  her  the  house  and  lot  in  Madison  Avenue.  He 


24  MR.  BINGLE 

did  that  willingly,  cheerfully.  Two  days  after  the 
divorce  was  granted,  he  paid  over  to  her  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars  alimony.  He  did  that  unwillingly, 
gloomily.  And  the  very  next  week  the  stock  market 
went  the  wrong  way  for  him,  and  he  was  cleaned 
out.  He  hadn't  a  dollar  left  of  the  comfortable 
little  fortune  that  had  been  his.  He  remained  drunk 
for  nearly  two  months,  and  when  he  sobered  up  in  a 
sanitarium  —  and  took  the  pledge  for  the  first  and 
last  time  —  he  came  out  of  the  haze  and  found  that 
he  hadn't  a  friend  left  in  New  York.  Every  man's 
head  was  turned  away  from  him,  every  man's  hand 
was  against  him. 

He  sent  for  his  son  to  come  to  the  cheap  hotel  in 
which  he  was  living.  The  son  sent  back  word  that 
he  never  wanted  to  see  his  face  again.  Whereupon 
Joseph  Hooper  for  the  first  time  declared  that  the 
sons  and  daughters  of  men  are  curses,  and  slunk  out 
of  New  York  to  say  it  aloud  in  the  broad,  free 
stretches  of  the  world  across  which  he  drifted  without 
aim  or  purpose  for  years  and  years  and  always  far 
ther  away  from  the  home  he  had  lost. 

He  always  said  to  himself  —  but  never  so  much  as 
a  word  of  it  to  any  one  else  —  that  if  his  wife  hadn't 
driven  him  to  distraction  with  her  nagging  he  would 
have  avoided  the  happy  though  disastrous  pitfalls 
into  which  he  stumbled  in  his  desperate  efforts  to  find 
appreciation.  He  would  have  remained  an  honour 
able,  faithful  spouse  to  her,  and  an  abstainer  —  as 
such  things  go.  He  would  have  shared  with  her  the 


RELATING  TO  AN  ODD  RELATION     25 

love  and  respect  of  their  three  children,  and  he  would 
have  staved  off  bankruptcy  with  the  very  hundred 
thousand  dollars  that  she  exacted  as  spite  money. 
But  she  was  a  nagger,  and  he  was  no  Job.  There 
was  a  modicum  of  joy  in  the  heart  of  him,  however: 
having  been  cleaned  out  to  the  last  penny,  he  was  in 
no  position  to  come  up  monthly  with  the  thousand 
dollars  charged  against  him  by  the  court  for  the  sup 
port  and  maintenance  of  two  of  his  children  until 
they  reached  their  majority.  He  took  a  savage  de 
light  in  contemplating  the  rage  of  his  late  wife  when 
she  realised  that  the  children  would  have  to  be  pro 
vided  for  out  of  the  income  from  the  one  hundred 
thousand  she  had  received  in  a  lump  sum,  and  he  even 
thanked  God  that  she  was  without  means  beyond  this 
hateful  amount.  It  tickled  him  to  think  of  her 
anguish  in  not  being  able  to  spend  the  income  from 
her  alimony  on  furs  and  feathers  with  which  to  bedeck 
herself.  Instead  of  spending  the  five  thousand  on 
herself  she  would  be  obliged  to  put  it  on  the  backs 
and  into  the  stomachs  of  her  three  brats !  He 
chuckled  vastly  over  this  bit  of  good  fortune!  It 
was  really  a  splendid  joke  on  her,  this  smash  of  his. 
No  doubt  the  children  also  hated  him  the  more  be 
cause  of  his  failure  to  remain  on  his  feet  down  in 
Wall  Street,  but  he  consoled  himself  with  the  thought 
that  they  would  sometimes  long  for  the  old  days  when 
father  did  the  providing,  and  wish  that  things  hadn't 
turned  out  so  badly. 

In  his  hour  of  disgrace  —  and  we  may  add  de- 


26  MR.  BINGLE 

generation  —  he  possessed  but  one  blood  relation  who 
stood  by  him  and  pitied  him  in  spite  of  his  faults. 
That  was  his  nephew,  Tom  Bingle,  the  son  of  his  only 
sister,  many  years  dead.  But  even  so,  he  did  not 
deceive  himself  in  respect  to  the  young  man's  atti 
tude  toward  him.  He  realised  that  Tom  was  kind 
to  him  simply  because  it  was  his  nature  to  be  kind  to 
every  one,  no  matter  how  unworthy.  It  wasn't  in 
Tom  Bingle  to  be  mean,  not  even  to  his  worst  enem}^ 
Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  the  young  man  had 
just  taken  unto  himself  a  wife,  and  was  as  poor  as 
a  church-mouse,  the  door  and  the  cupboard  in  his 
modest  little  flat  were  opened  cheerfully  to  the  de 
linquent  Uncle  Joe,  and  be  it  said  to  the  latter's 
discredit  and  shame  —  he  proceeded  to  impose  upon 
the  generosity  of  his  nephew  in  a  manner  that  should 
have  earned  him  a  booting  into  the  street.  But 
young  Tom  was  patient,  he  was  mild,  he  even  seemed 
to  enjoy  being  put  upon  by  the  wretched  bankrupt. 
The  thing  that  touched  his  heart  most  of  all  and 
caused  him  to  overlook  a  great  many  shortcomings, 
was  the  cruel,  unfilial  slap  in  the  face  that  had  been 
administered  by  the  three  children  of  the  man,  and 
the  crushing,  bewildering  effect  it  had  upon  him. 

It  was  Tom  who  virtually  picked  the  once  fastid 
ious  Joseph  Hooper  out  of  the  gutter,  weeks  after  the 
smash,  and  took  him  under  his  puny  wing,  so  to  speak, 
during  a  somewhat  protracted  period  of  regeneration. 
The  broken,  shattered  man  became,  for  the  time  be 
ing,  the  Bingle  burden,  and  he  was  not  by  any  means 


RELATING  TO  AN  ODD  RELATION     27 

a  light  or  pleasant  one.  For  months  old  Joseph  ate 
of  his  nephew's  food,  drained  his  purse,  abused  his 
generosity,  ignored  his  comforts  and  almost  suc 
ceeded  in  driving  the  young  but  devoted  wife  back 
to  the  home  from  which  Tom  had  married  her. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  the  mild-mannered 
bookkeeper  arose  to  the  dignity  of  a  fine  rage,  and 
co-incidentally  Joseph  Hooper  for  the  first  time  re 
alised  what  an  overbearing,  disagreeable  visitor  he  had 
been  and  departed,  but  without  the  slightest  ill-feel 
ing  toward  his  benefactors.  Indeed,  he  was  deeply 
repentant,  deeply  apologetic.  He  ruefully  an 
nounced  that  it  would  never  be  in  his  power  to  repay 
them  for  all  they  had  done  for  him,  but,  resorting  to 
a  sudden  whim,  declared  that  he  would  make  them 
his  heirs  if  they  didn't  mind  being  used  as  a  means 
to  convey  his  final  word  of  defiance  to  the  children 
who  had  cast  him  off.  Not  that  he  would  ever  have 
a  dollar  to  leave  to  them,  but  for  the  satisfaction  it 
would  give  him  to  cut  the  traitors  off  with  the  pro 
verbial  shilling.  Beset  with  the  notion  that  this  was 
an  ideal  way  to  show  his  contempt  for  his  offspring, 
he  went  to  the  safety  deposit  vault  and  took  there 
from  the  worthless  document  known  as  his  last  will 
and  testament  and  in  the  presence  of  witnesses  de 
stroyed  the  thing,  thereby  disinheriting  the  erstwhile 
wife  and  her  children  as  effectually  as  if  he  had  really 
possessed  the  estate  set  forth  in  the  instrument. 

"  I'll  make  a  will  in  your  favour,  Tom,"  he  said 
at  the  time,  with  a  mocking  grin,  "  and  in  it  I  will 


28  MR.  BINGLE 

include  this  miserable  carcass  of  mine,  so  that  you 
may  at  least  have  something  to  sell  to  the  doctors. 
And  who  knows?  I  may  scrape  together  a  few  hun 
dred  dollars  before  I  die,  provided  I  don't  die  too 
soon." 

"  We  will  give  you  a  decent  burial,  Uncle  Joe," 
said  Thomas  Bingle,  revolting  against  the  specific. 
"  Do  you  suppose  I  would  sell  my  uncle  to  a  — " 

"  Haven't  you  a  ray  of  humour  in  that  head  of 
yours  ?  "  demanded  his  uncle.  "  Can't  you  see  a 
joke?" 

"Well,  if  you  were  joking,"  said  Bingle,  relieved, 
"  all  well  and  good,  but  it  didn't  sound  that  way." 

"  You  are  a  simple  soul,"  was  all  that  Joseph  said, 
and  then  borrowed  fifty  dollars  from  his  nephew  for 
a  fresh  start  in  the  world,  as  he  expressed  it.  With 
this  slender  fortune  in  his  purse  he  set  out  into  a 
world  that  knew  him  not,  nor  was  it  known  to  him. 

He  came  back  fifteen  years  afterward,  poorer  than 
when  he  went  away,  broken  in  health,  old  to  the  point 
of  decrepitude,  bedraggled,  unkempt  and  prideless. 
And  once  more  Thomas  Bingle  took  him  in  and  pro 
vided  the  prospective  death-bed  for  him.  They  made 
the  old  derelict  as  comfortable  as  it  was  in  their  power 
to  do,  and  sacrificed  not  a  little  in  order  that  he  might 
have  some  of  the  comforts  of  life. 

He  was  a  very  humble,  meek  old  man,  and  they 
pitied  him.  Screwing  up  his  courage,  Mr.  Bingle 
went  one  day  to  the  home  of  the  son  of  Joseph 
Hooper  and  boldly  suggested  that,  inasmuch  as  the 


RELATING  TO  AN  ODD  RELATION     29 

mother  was  no  longer  living,  it  would  not  be  amiss 
for  him  and  his  sisters  to  take  the  father  who  created 
them  back  into  the  family  circle  once  more,  and  to 
ease  his  declining  years.  Mr.  Bingle  was  ordered 
out  of  the  rich  man's  office.  Then  he  approached 
the  two  daughters,  both  of  whom  had  married  well, 
and  met  with  an  even  more  painful  reception.  They 
not  only  refused  to  recognise  their  father  but  de 
clined  to  recognise  their  father's  nephew. 

A  few  days  afterward,  a  lawyer  came  to  the  bank 
to  see  Mr.  Bingle.  He  informed  the  bookkeeper  that 
the  Hooper  family  had  been  thinking  matters  over 
and  were  prepared  to  pay  him  the  sum  of  seventy- 
five  dollars  a  month  for  the  care  of  Joseph  Hooper, 
or,  in  other  words,  they  would  contribute  twenty-five 
dollars  apiece  toward  sustaining  the  life  of  one  who 
was  already  dead  to  them.  Moreover,  they  stood 
ready  to  pay  the  expenses  of  his  funeral  when  actual 
dissolution  occurred,  but  farther  than  that  they 
could  not  be  expected  to  go. 

Mr.  Bingle  flared  up  —  a  most  unusual  thing  for 
him  to  do.  "  You  tell  them  that  I  will  take  care  of 
Uncle  Joe  as  long  as  he  lives  without  a  nickel  from 
them  and  that  I'll  bury  him  when  he  dies." 

"  Out  of  your  own  pocket?  "  exclaimed  the  lawyer, 
who  knew  something  of  bookkeepers'  salaries. 

"  Most  certainly  not  out  of  anybody  else's,"  said 
Mr.  Bingle,  with  dignity.  "  And  you  can  also  tell 
them  that  they  are  a  pack  of  blamed  good-for-noth 
ings,"  he  added,  with  absolutely  no  dignity. 


30  MR.  BINGLE 

"  My  dear  sir." 

"  Be  sure  to  tell  'em,  will  you  ?  If  I  was  a  swearing 
man  I'd  do  better  than  that  but  I  guess  it  will  do 
for  a  starter." 

"  My  clients  will  insist  upon  re-imbursing  you 
for — "  began  the  lawyer  stiffly,  but  Mr.  Bingle 
snapped  his  fingers  disdainfully,  much  nearer  the  gen 
tleman's  nose  than  he  intended,  no  doubt,  and  with 
a  perfectly  astonishing  result.  The  legal  representa 
tive's  hat  fell  off  backwards  and  he  actually  trod  upon 
it  in  his  haste  to  give  way  before  the  irate  little  book 
keeper. 

"  You  tell  'em  just  what  I  said,  that's  all  you've 
got  to  do,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  and  then  picked  up  his 
visitor's  hat  and  pushed  the  crown  into  shape  with 
a  vicious  dig.  "  Here's  your  hat.  Good  day." 

He  was  so  boiling  mad  all  the  rest  of  the  afternoon 
that  he  could  not  see  tlie  figures  clearly,  and  made 
countless  mistakes,  necessitating  an  extra  two  hours' 
work  on  the  books  before  he  could  even  think  of 
going  home. 

Arriving  at  the  apartment,  he  found  his  wife  in  a 
state  of  perturbation,  not  over  his  tardiness,  but  over 
the  extraordinary  behaviour  of  Uncle  Joe.  The  old 
man  had  been  out  most  of  the  day  and  had  come  in  at 
five,  growling  and  cursing  with  more  than  ordinary 
vehemence. 

"  He  is  in  his  bedroom,  Tom,  and  I  don't  know 
what  to  make  of  him.  He  has  had  bad  news,  I 
think." 


RELATING  TO  AN  ODD  RELATION     31 

"Bad  news?"  cried  Mr.  Bingle.  "The  very 
worst  news  on  earth  wouldn't  seem  bad  to  Uncle  Joe 
after  all  he  has  gone  through.  I'll  go  in  and  see 
him." 

"  Be  careful,  dear !  I  —  I  —  he  may  be  insane. 
You  never  can  tell  what — " 

It  turned  out  that  the  old  man  had  visited  his 
three  children  during  the  day,  going  to  each  of  them 
as  a  suppliant  and  in  deep  humility.  After  fifteen 
years,  he  broke  his  resolve  and  went  to  them  with 
his  only  appeal.  He  wanted  to  die  with  his  children 
about  him.  That  was  all.  He  did  not  ask  them  to 
love  him,  or  forgive  him.  He  only  asked  them  to  call 
him  father  and  to  let  him  spend  the  last  weeks  of  his 
life  within  the  sound  of  their  voices. 

Sitting  at  the  supper  table,  he  grimly  related  his 
experiences  to  the  distressed  Bingles. 

"  I  went  first  to  Angela's,  Tom,"  he  said,  scowl 
ing  at  the  centre-piece.  "  Angela  married  that  Mor 
timer  fellow  in  Sixty-first  Street,  you  know  —  Clar 
ence  Mortimer's  son.  Ever  seen  their  home?  Well, 
the  butler  told  me  to  go  around  to  the  rear  entrance. 
I  gave  him  my  card  and  told  him  to  take  it  up  to  my 
daughter.  I  had  a  fellow  in  a  drug-store  write  my 
name  neatly  on  some  blank  cards,  Mary.  The  butler 
threatened  to  call  the  police.  He  thought  I  was 
crazy.  But  just  then  old  Clarence  Mortimer  came 
up  the  steps.  It  seems  that  he  is  living  with  his  son, 
having  lost  all  of  his  money  a  few  years  ago.  He 
recognised  me  at  once,  and  I  knew  by  the  way  he 


32  MR.  BINGLE 

shook  hands  with  me  that  he  has  been  leading  a  dog's 
life  ever  since  he  went  broke.  He  said  he'd  speak  to 
Angela  —  and  he  did.  I  waited  in  the  hall  down 
stairs.  Old  Clarence  didn't  have  the  courage  to 
come  back  himself.  A  footman  brought  down  word 
that  Mrs.  Mortimer  could  not  see  Mr.  Hooper.  She 
was  not  at  home  to  Mr.  Hooper,  and  —  never  would 
be.  That  was  what  her  servant  was  obliged  to  tell 
me.  So  I  went  away.  Then  I  tried  Elizabeth. 
She  lives  in  one  of  those  fifteen  thousand  dollar  a 
year  apartments  on  Park  Avenue.  She  has  three 
lovely  children.  They  are  my  grand-children,  you 
know,  Tom.  I  saw  them  in  the  automobile  as  I  came 
out  of  the  building  and  went  my  way  after  Elizabeth 
Bransone  had  told  me  to  my  face  —  I  managed  to  get 
in  to  see  her  —  had  told  me  that  I  was  a  sight,  a 
disgrace,  that  she  couldn't  bear  to  look  at  me,  and 
that  I  had  better  clear  out  before  her  husband  came 
in.  My  own  daughter,  Tom,  my  own  flesh  and  blood. 
She  informed  me  that  provision  would  be  made  for 
me,  but  she  made  it  very  plain  —  damnably  plain  — 
that  I  was  never  to  bother  her  again.  So  I  went 
away  from  Elizabeth's.  There  was  only  one  of  'em 
left,  and  I  hated  to  tackle  him  worse  than  either  of 
the  girls.  But  I  did.  I  went  down  to  his  office.  He 
refused  to  see  me  at  first,  but  evidently  thought  it 
best  to  get  the  thing  out  of  his  system  forever,  so  he 
changed  his  mind  and  told  the  office  boy  to  let  me  in. 
Well,  my  son  Geoffrey  is  a  very  important  person 


RELATING  TO  AN  ODD  RELATION     38 

now.  He  married  a  Maybrick,  you  know,  and  he  is 
a  partner  in  old  Maybrick's  firm  —  steamship  agents. 
Geoffrey  looked  me  over.  He  did  it  very  thoroughly. 
I  told  him  I'd  come  to  see  if  he  couldn't  do  something 
toward  helping  me  to  die  a  respectable,  you  might 
say  comfortable  death.  He  cut  me  off  short.  Said 
he  would  give  me  a  thousand  dollars  to  leave  New 
York  and  stay  away  forever.  I  — " 

"  I  trust  you  did  not  accept  the  money,"  cried  Mr. 
Bingle  in  a  shocked  voice. 

"  I'm  pretty  well  down  and  out,  Tom,  but  I'd 
sooner  starve  than  to  take  money  from  him  in  that 
way.  So  I  told  my  son  to  go  to  the  devil." 

"  Good  for  you !  "  cried  Mr.  Bingle.  "  And  then 
what?" 

"  He  is  a  humorous  individual,  that  pompous  son 
of  mine,"  said  old  Joseph,  with  a  chuckle.  "  He  said 
I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  myself  for  advising  my  own 
son  to  go  to  the  devil  in  view  of  what  a  similar  ex 
cursion  had  done  for  me.  I  managed  to  subdue  my 
temper  —  it's  a  bad  one,  as  you  know  —  and  put  the 
matter  up  to  him  in  plain  terms.  *  I  am  your  father, 
Geoffrey,  when  all  is  said  and  done.  Are  you  going 
to  kick  me  out  into  the  world  when  I've  got  no  more 
than  a  month  or  two  to  live  ?  Are  you  going  to  allow 
my  body  to  lie  in  the  Potter's  field?  Are  you  willing 
to  allow  this  poor  nephew  of  mine  to  take  care  of  me, 
to  assume  the  responsibility  of  seeing  that  I  get  a 
decent  burial  in  a  decent  — '  " 


34  MR.  BINGLE 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Joe,  you  oughtn't  even  to  think  of  such 
things,"  broke  in  his  niece  by  marriage.  "  You  must 
think  of  cheerful — " 

"  You  are  good  for  years  and  years  — "  began  Mr. 
Bingle. 

"  Don't  interrupt  me,"  said  Uncle  Joe  irascibly. 
"  I  guess  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about.  I'm  good 
for  a  couple  of  months  at  the  outside.  I'm  seventy 
years  old  and  I  feel  two  hundred.  Why,  dammit, 
old  Clarence  Mortimer  said  I  look  a  hundred.  To 
make  the  story  short,  Geoffrey  said  he  had  arranged 
to  pay  you  for  my  keep,  no  matter  how  long  I  lasted, 
but  he  thought  I  was  foolish  not  to  take  the  thousand 
and  go  to  some  quiet  little  place  in  the  country  — 
and  wait.  If  —  if  it  should  happen  that  I  lived 
longer  than  the  thousand  would  carry  me,  he'd  see 
to  it  that  I  had  more.  Only  he  didn't  want  me  hang 
ing  around  New  York.  That  was  the  point,  d'you 
see?  He  very  frankly  said  that  he  had  always  sided 
with  his  mother  against  me,  and  that  was  all  there 
was  to  it,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned.  And,  see  here, 
Tom,  he  said  you  had  been  down  to  see  him  about  me. 
Is  that  true?  " 

"  Well,  I  —  I  thought  perhaps  —  er  —  I  might  be 
able  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation,"  floundered  Mr. 
Bingle. 

"  And  you  found  that  in  the  upper  circles  it  is  not 
considered  good  form  to  be  reconciled  unless  it  pays, 
eh  ?  What  would  be  the  sense  in  becoming  reconciled 
to  a  wreck  of  a  father,  who  hasn't  a  dollar  in  the 


RELATING  TO  AN  ODD  RELATION     35 

world,  after  getting  along  so  nicely  for  fifteen  years 
without  him  ?  No,  it  isn't  done,  Tom  —  it's  not  the 
thing.  Geoffrey  made  no  bones  about  admitting  that 
as  far  as  he  is  concerned,  I  have  been  dead  for  fifteen 
years.  He  — " 

"  Well  then,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  slamming  his  fist 
upon  the  dining-table  so  violently  that  the  cutlery 
bounced,  "why  the  dickens  does  he  object  to  bury 
ing  you?  If  I  discovered  a  relative  that  had  been 
dead  for  fifteen  years,  I'd  see  to  it  that  he  was  buried, 
if  only  for  the  good  of  the  community." 

"  He  doesn't  object  to  burying  me,"  explained  Un 
cle  Joe.  "  He  implies  that  he'll  do  that  much  for  me 
with  pleasure.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  said  that  if 
I'd  arrange  to  have  some  one  notify  him  when  I  was 
literally  dead,  he  would  see  to  it  that  I  was  buried. 
But  I  told  him  he  needn't  bother  his  head  about  it, 
because  I  was  quite  sure  you  would  do  it  even  more 
cheerfully  than  he  and  undoubtedly  with  less  se 
crecy." 

"Cheerfully?"  gasped  the  Singles. 

"  Cheerfully,"  repeated  Uncle  Joe  firmly.  "  And 
now,  can't  we  talk  about  something  else?  I've  done 
my  best  to  make  peace  with  my  son  and  daughters, 
and  now  I  wash  my  hands  of  'em.  I  never  intended 
to  weaken  in  my  resolve,  but  I  —  I  just  couldn't  help 
it,  Tom.  I  swore  I'd  never  look  into  their  faces 
again,  but,  after  all,  I  am  their  father,  you  see,  and 
I  suppose  I'm  getting  weak  and  childish  in  my  old 
age.  I  gave  in,  that's  all.  I  thought  they  might 


36  MR.  BINGLE 

have  some  little  feeling  for  me,  and  — "  He  did  not 
finish  the  sentence,  and  as  the  Bingles  took  that  in 
stant  to  blow  their  noses  and  to  look  so  intently  at 
the  electric  chandelier  that  their  eyes  smarted,  it  was 
perhaps  just  as  well  that  he  ended  his  ruminations 
when  he  did. 

All  this  happened  six  weeks  prior  to  Christmas 
Eve,  and  they  were  six  long,  trying  weeks  for  the 
two  Bingles.  The  old  man  was  sick  two-thirds  of  the 
time  and  had  to  have  a  physician.  He  insisted  on 
having  the  now  famous  Dr.  Fiddler,  one  of  the  most 
expensive  practitioners  in  New  York,  obstinately  re 
fusing  to  listen  to  reason.  Fiddler  had  been  the 
Hooper  family  physician  years  ago  and  that  was  all 
there  was  to  be  said.  He  would  have  him.  So  poor 
Tom  Bingle  sent  for  the  great  man,  who  came  and 
prescribed  for  his  old  friend  and  client.  After  a 
week  the  Bingles  began  to  count  the  number  of  visits, 
and  grew  lean  and  gaunt-faced  over  the  prospect 
ahead  of  them.  Fiddler's  fee  was  ten  dollars  a  visit 
—  to  a  friend,  he  explained,  in  accounting  for  the 
ridiculously  low  figure  —  and  he  came  twice  a  day  for 
nearly  two  weeks.  The  Bingles  did  not  complain. 
As  Mr.  Bingle  said,  they  took  their  medicine,  even  as 
Uncle  Joe  took  his  —  only  he  thrived  on  it  and  they 
withered.  Dr.  Fiddler  was  very  nice  about  it,  how 
ever.  He  assured  Mr.  Bingle  that  he  was  in  no 
hurry  for  his  money.  Any  time  before  the  first  of 
February  would  be  perfectly  satisfactory.  He  was 
only  too  glad  to  have  been  instrumental  in  dragging 


RELATING  TO  AN  ODD  RELATION     37 

his  old  friend,  Joseph  Hooper  from  the  very  edge  of 
the  grave. 

"  And  if  he  has  a  recurrence  of  the  — "  he  began 
suavely. 

"  There's  no  danger  of  that,  is  there,  Doctor? 
cried  Mr.  Bingle,  gripping  his  fingers  tightly  in  his 
coat  pockets. 

"  Don't  hesitate  a  moment,  Mr.  Bingle.  Send  for 
me.  You  may  depend  upon  it,  I  will  come  on  the 
instant.  I  think  your  poor  uncle  has  been  very  badly 
—  er  —  treated,  Mr.  Bingle." 

"  Do  you  attend  the  families  of  his  son  and  daugh 
ters  —  I  mean  to  say,  as  their  regular  — " 

"  No,"  said  Dr.  Fiddler  shortly,  "  I  have  not  that 
felicity,  Mr.  Bingle."  And  Mr.  Bingle  thought  he 
understood  why  Dr.  Fiddler  felt  that  Uncle  Joe  had 
been  badly  treated. 

Later  on,  Uncle  Joe  blandly  asseverated  that  it 
pays  to  have  the  best,  no  matter  what  it  costs. 
"  Why,  one  of  these  cheap,  rattle-brained  doctors 
would  have  let  me  die,  sure  as  fate.  Old  Fiddler 
comes  high,  but  he  cures.  If  I  should  happen  to  get 
sick  again,  Tom,  send  for  him  without  delay,  will 
you?" 

Mr.  Bingle  said  he  would,  and  he  meant  it.  He  had 
jotted  down  in  the  back  of  a  little  notebook  each  suc 
cessive  visit  of  Dr.  Fiddler,  and,  consulting  it  from 
time  to  time,  had  no  difficulty  in  realising  that  he 
came  high.  Twenty-one  visits,  at  ten  dollars  a  visit, 
that's  what  it  amounted  to,  say  nothing  of  the  drug- 


38  MR.  BINGLE 

bill,  the  extra-food  bill,  the  night-nurse's  wages,  and 
the  wear  and  tear  on  the  nerves  of  his  wife,  himself  — 
and  Melissa.  For,  it  would  appear,  Melissa  had 
nerves  as  well  as  the  rest  of  them,  and  Uncle  Joe  was 
the  very  worst  thing  in  the  world  for  Melissa's  nerves. 
She  very  frequently  said  so,  and  sometimes  to  his 
face,  although  she  never  neglected  him  for  an  instant. 
In  truth,  she  shared  with  Mrs.  Bingle  the  day 
nursing,  and  seldom  slept  well  of  nights,  knowing 
that  the  night-nurse  was  upsetting  everything 
in  the  kitchen  and  pantry  in  her  most  professional 
way. 

Of  course  Uncle  Joe  did  not  actually  get  well.  He 
merely  recovered.  In  other  words,  he  survived  the 
attack  of  influenza  and  heart  trouble,  only  to  go  on 
ailing  as  he  had  ailed  before.  He  was  quite  cheer 
ful  about  it,  too.  They  used -to  catch  him  chuckling 
to  himself  as  he  sat  shivering  over  the  fireplace,  and 
he  seemed  to  take  especial  delight  in  demanding  three 
eggs  for  breakfast  when  every  one  knew  that  eggs 
were  seventy-two  cents  a  dozen.  The  only  compensa 
tion  they  had  out  of  the  experience  —  aside  from  the 
realisation  that  they  were  living  up  to  a  principle  — 
was  the  untiring  effort  he  made  to  entertain  them 
with  stories  of  his  adventures  as  a  tramp  !  He  grace- 
lessly  confessed  that  he  had  travelled  under  many 
names,  and  that  he  was  known  by  various  soubriquets 
that  would  not  sound  well  on  Fifth  Avenue  but  still 
possessed  the  splendid  virtue  of  being  decorative. 
There  was  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  he  had  roamed 


RELATING  TO  AN  ODD  RELATION     39 

the  land  over,  and  there  was  not  even  the  faintest 
suspicion  that  he  had  profited  by  travel. 

And  this  brings  us  up  to  Christmas  Eve.  With 
February  not  far  away,  and  Uncle  Joe  lamentably 
liable  to  have  another  attack,  the  Bingles  curtailed 
quite  considerably  in  their  preparations  for  the  fes 
tivities  in  honour  of  the  five  little  Sykeses.  They 
spent  but  a  third  of  the  customary  amount  in  pro 
viding  presents,  and  they  were  not  quite  sure  that 
they  were  wise  in  spending  as  much  as  that.  Uncle 
Joe  went  to  considerable  pains  to  convince  them  that 
they  were  making  fools  of  themselves  in  throwing 
away  money  that  might  be  needed  for  his  funeral,  and 
absolutely  refused  to  become  a  party  to  the  affair. 
He  moped  in  his  bedroom,  over  an  oil-stove,  and  made 
himself  generally  unpleasant.  As  for  "  The  Christ 
mas  Carol,"  he  had  but  one  opinion  about  it,  and  this 
is  no  place  to  express  it. 

When  he  came  into  the  sitting-room  after  the  de 
parture  of  the  Sykeses,  breaking  in  upon  the  tender 
reflections  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingle,  he  represented 
the  ghost  who  might  have  been  at  the  feast  but  was, 
for  some  reason,  obligingly  late. 

As  he  stood  over  the  blaze,  rubbing  his  bony 
old  knuckles,  he  was  a  depressing  figure  indeed.  His 
gloomy  eyes  had  no  reflected  glow  in  them;  his  long, 
stooped  frame  suggested  nothing  so  much  as  a  wea 
ther-worn  scare-crow  about  which  a  thousand  storms 
had  thrashed.  There  was  no  joy  in  his  soul. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  as  if  they  had  disputed  him  with- 


40  MR.  BINGLE 

out  reason,  "  you  ought  to  be  thankful  you  have  no 
children.  What  you  can  see  in  this  tomfoolery  about 
Christmas  Eve  is  beyond  me.  Better  save  your 
money  for  something  worth  while,  that's  what  I  say. 
Something  worth  while." 

"  Well,  what,  for  instance?  "  demanded  Mr.  Bingle, 
suddenly  irritated  beyond  control. 

"  Confound  you,  Tom,  do  you  forget  that  you  owe 
Dr.  Fiddler  more  than  two  hundred  dollars  ? " 
snapped  Uncle  Joe,  turning  on  him. 

"  Oh,  I  will  pay  him  —  I  will  pay  him  all  right, 
never  fear,"  replied  Mr.  Bingle,  shrinking. 

Old  Joseph  Hooper  regarded  him  keenly  for  a  long 
time  before  speaking  again.  His  voice  softened  and 
his  manner  underwent  a  swift  change. 

"  Tom  Bingle,  you  are  the  best  man  living  to-day," 
he  said,  a  strange  huskiness  in  his  voice.  "  If  you 
were  not  as  good  as  gold  you  would  kick  me  out  and 
—  and—" 

"  Kick  you  out,  Uncle  Joe !  "  cried  Mr.  Bingle, 
coming  to  his  feet  and  laying  his  hand  on  the  bent 
shoulder.  "  God  bless  you,  sir,  I  —  I  —  I  ought  to 
kick  you  out  for  saymg  such  a  thing  1 " 

And  old  Joseph  suddenly  laid  his  arm  on  the  man 
telpiece  and  buried  his  face  upon  it,  his  gaunt  figure 
shaking  with  sobs. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   DEATH   OF    UNCLE   JOE 

WHEN  Thomas  Bingle  made  his  inspired  visit  to 
Geoffrey  Hooper  in  the  interest  of  peace,  he  took  it 
upon  himself  to  advise  his  wealthy  cousin  to  read 
"  The  Christmas  Carol "  before  it  was  too  late,  and 
formed  a  permanent  and  irradicable  opinion  of  the 
pauper's  son  when  that  individual  curtly  informed 
him  that  he  was  not  in  the  habit  of  reading  "  trash." 
Mr.  Bingle  was  patient  enough  to  inquire  if  he  knew 
anything  about  "  The  Christmas  Carol "  and  Geof 
frey  in  turn  asked  "  who  wrote  the  words  for  it,"  al 
though  it  really  didn't  matter,  he  added  by  way  of 
cutting  off  the  reply  of  his  astonished  visitor,  who 
naturally  could  not  have  expected  to  know  that  his 
cousin  was  a  consistent  church-goer  and  knew  a  great 
deal  about  Christmas  carols.  If  it  had  been  in  his 
power  to  hate  any  one,  Mr.  Bingle  would  have  hated 
his  solitary  male  cousin  for  that  stupendous  insult 
to  literature.  As  it  was,  he  could  only  pity  him  for 
his  ignorance,  and  at  the  same  time  blame  Uncle 
Joseph  for  bringing  up  his  son  in  such  a  slip-shod 
manner. 

It  all  went  to  show  the  trend  of  the  world,  however, 
in  this  callous  age  of  ours ;  it  went  to  show  that  the 

right  sort  of  missionary  work  was  not  being  per- 

41 


42  MR.  BINGLE 

formed.  Mr.  Bingle  never  forgave  Geoffrey  for  call 
ing  "  The  Christmas  Carol  "  trash.  In  the  light  of 
what  took  place  afterwards,  he  felt  that  he  was  com 
pletely  justified  in  an  opinion  formed  almost  on  the 
instant  the  abominable  word  was  uttered. 

Christmas  fell  on  a  Wednesday.  Three  days  out 
of  each  year  Mr.  Bingle  slept  late  of  a  morning: 
Christmas,  Easter  Sunday  and  Labour  Day.  On 
this  particular  Christmas  morning  he  slept  much  later 
than  usual;  the  little  clock  in  the  parlour  was  strik 
ing  eight  when  he  awoke  and  scrambled  out  of  bed. 

Mrs.  Bingle  always  had  her  coffee  in  bed.  She 
adhered  strictly  to  that  pleasant  custom  for  the 
somewhat  pathetic  reason  that  it  afforded  a  distinct 
exemplification  of  the  superiority  of  mistress  over 
maid.  By  no  manner  of  means  could  Melissa  have 
arrived  at  this  expression  of  luxurjr. 

"  Merry  Christmas,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  crimping  his 
toes  on  the  cold  carpet  and  bending  over  to  kiss  his 
companion's  cheek.  She  responded  with  unwonted 
vigour,  proving  that  she  had  been  wide  awake  for 
some  time. 

"  I  shall  get  up,  Thomas,"  she  declared,  much  to 
his  surprise. 

"  It's  pretty  cold,"  said  he.  "  Better  stay  where 
you  are." 

"  I  thought  I  heard  Uncle  Joe  moving  about  in  the 
sitting-room  quite  a  while  ago,"  she  said.  "  Do  you 
suppose  he  needed  a  hot-water  bottle?  " 

Mr.  Bingle  sighed.     "  If  he  did,  you  may  be  quite 


THE  DEATH  OF  UNCLE  JOE  43 

sure  he  would  have  got  the  whole  house  up  with  his 
roars,  Mary." 

"  You  will  take  cold,  Thomas,  standing  around 
without  your — " 

"  I'll  just  run  in  and  see  if  Uncle  Joe  needs  any 
thing,"  he  interrupted,  a  note  of  anxiety  in  his  voice. 
Pausing  at  the  bedroom  door,  with  his  hand  on  the 
knob,  he  turned  toward  her  with  a  merry  grin  on  his 
deeply-seamed  face.  His  sparse  hair  was  as  tousled 
and  his  eyes  as  full  of  mischief  as  any  child's. 
"  Maybe  it  was  old  Santa  you  heard  out  there,  Mary 
—  filling  the  stockings." 

She  was  too  matter-of-fact  for  anything  like  that. 
"  If  you  knew  what  was  good  for  you,  Tom  Bingle, 
you'd  fill  that  pair  of  stockings  lying  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed  instead  of  running  around  in  your  bare  feet," 
she  said,  pulling  the  covers  up  about  her  chin.  "  I 
think  I'll  have  my  breakfast  in  bed,  after  all." 

"  That's  right,"  said  he,  and  hurried  nimbly  out  of 
the  room  so  that  she  would  not  hear  the  chattering  of 
his  teeth. 

Mrs.  Bingle  was  enjoying  the  paroxysm  of  a  lux 
urious,  comfortable  yawn  when  she  heard  a  shout  of 
alarm  from  the  sitting-room.  She  sat  straight  up  in 
bed. 

"  Mary !     Oh,  my  goodness  !     I  say,  Melissa !  " 

Then  came  the  pattering  of  Mr.  Bingle's  feet  across 
the  floor,  followed  by  the  intrusion  of  an  excited  face 
through  the  half-open  door. 

"  Wha  —  what  is  the  matter?  "  she  quavered. 


44  MR.  BINGLE 

«  He  —  he's  gone!" 

"Dead?"  she  shrieked. 

"  No !  Gone,  I  said  —  left  the  house.  Out  in  the 
cold.  Freezing.  Wandering  about  in  the  streets  — " 

"  In  —  in  his  night  clothes  ?  "  gasped  his  wife. 
"  Don't  tell  me  he  has  gone  into  the  street  without  — " 

"  Get  up ! "  cried  Mr.  Bingle,  making  a  dash  for 
his  own  garments.  "  We  must  do  something.  Let 
me  think  —  give  me  time.  Now  what  is  the  first 
thing  to  do?  Notify  the  police  or — " 

"  Is  he  dressed?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Of  course,"  he  replied.  "  At  least  he  took  his 
clothes  with  him.  They're  not  in  his  bedroom." 

"  Well,  ask  the  elevator  boy.  He'll  know  when  he 
went  out.  Hurry  up,  Thomas.  Don't  stop  to  put 
on  a  collar.  Do  hurry  — " 

"  I'm  not  putting  on  a  collar,"  came  in  smothered 
tones.  "  I'm  putting  on  a  shirt." 

He  didn't  quite  have  it  on  when  Melissa  appeared 
in  the  doorway,  wide-eyed  and  excited. 

"  Uncle  Joe  has  disappeared,  ma'am,"  she  chat 
tered.  "  I  can't  find  hide  or  hair  of  him.  Did  you 
call,  Mr.  Bingle,  or  was  it  — " 

"  I  called,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  getting  behind  the 
foot-board  of  the  bed.  "  Where  is  he  ?  Did  you  — " 

"  I  heard  him  moving  about  the  kitchen  about  six 
or  half-past.  I  peeked  out  of  my  door,  and  there 
he  was,  all  dressed,  putting  the  coffee  pot  on  the 
stove.  I  says  to  him :  '  What  are  you  doing 
there?'  and  he  says:  'I'm  getting  breakfast,  you 


THE  DEATH  OF  UNCLE  JOE  45 

lazy  lummix,'  and  I  says:  'Well,  get  it,  you  old 
bear,  'cause  I  won't,  you  can  bet  on  that,' —  and  went 
back  to  bed.  Oh,  goodness  —  goodness  !  I  wouldn't 
ha'  said  that  to  him  if  I'd  knowed  he  — " 

"  Don't  blubber,  Melissa,"  cried  Mrs.  Bingle. 
"  Ask  the  elevator  boy  what  time  it  was  when  — 

"  Hand  me  my  trousers,  Mary,"  shivered  Mr.  Bin 
gle,  "  or  send  Melissa  out  of  the  room.  I  can't  — " 

"  He  made  himself  some  coffee  and  — " 

"  Call  the  elevator  boy,  as  I  tell  you  —  No,  wait ! 
Dress  yourself  first,  you  silly  thing,"  commanded 
Mrs.  Bingle,  and  Melissa  fled. 

The  old  man  was  gone,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
about  that.  Investigations  proved  that  he  had  left 
the  building  at  precisely  sixteen  minutes  of  seven,  the 
janitor  declaring  that  he  had  looked  at  his  watch  the 
instant  the  old  man  appeared  on  the  sidewalk  where 
he  was  shovelling  away  the  snow.  He  admitted  that 
nothing  short  of  a  miracle  could  have  caused  him  to 
go  to  the  trouble  of  getting  out  his  watch  on  a 
morning  as  cold  as  this  one  happened  to  be,  and  so 
he  regarded  old  Mr.  Hooper's  exit  as  a  most  aston 
ishing  occurrence.  Further  investigation  showed 
that  he  had  walked  down  the  six  tortuous  flights  of 
stairs  instead  of  ringing  for  the  elevator,  and  that 
he  was  clad  in  Mr.  Bingle's  best  overcoat,  an  ulster 
of  five  winters,  to  say  nothing  of  his  arctics,  gloves 
and  muffler. 

No  one,  not  even  Mr.  Bingle,  could  deny  that  it 
was  a  very  shabby  thing  to  do  on  a  Christmas  morn- 


46  MR.  BINGLE 

ing,  and  for  once  the  gentle  bookkeeper  lost  faith  in 
his  fellow-man.  In  all  probability  he  would  have  ex 
cused  Uncle  Joe's  early  morning  stroll  in  garments 
that  did  not  belong  to  him  had  it  not  been  for  the 
fact  that  the  old  gentleman  also  took  away  with  him 
all  of  his  own  scanty  belongings  neatly  wrapped  in 
the  morning  newspaper,  an  almost  priceless  break 
fast  possession  from  Mr.  Bingle's  way  of  looking  at  it. 

At  first  Mrs.  Bingle  insisted  on  having  the  police 
notified.  It  was  so  evident  that  Uncle  Joe  had  de 
parted  without  even  contemplating  an  early  return 
that  she  couldn't  see  why  her  husband  shouldn't  at 
least  recover  what  belonged  to  him  before  the  old  in- 
grate  could  get  to  a  pawn-shop,  notwithstanding  the 
family  shame  that  would  attend  an  actual  arrest. 

66  He  is  an  old  scamp,  Tom,  and  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  put  up  with  the  scurvy  trick  he  has  played 
on  you,"  she  protested,  almost  in  tears.  "  After  all 
we've  done  for  him,  it  really  seems  — " 

"  I  swear  to  goodness,  Mary,  I  believe  I'd  do  it  if 
—  if  it  wasn't  Christmas,"  groaned  Mr.  Bingle,  who 
sat  dejectedly  over  the  fire,  his  hands  jammed  deep 
into  his  pockets,  his  chin  on  his  breast.  "  But  really, 
my  dear,  I  —  I  can't  —  I  just  can't  set  the  police 
after  him  on  Christmas  Day.  Besides,  he  may  come 
back  of  his  own  accord." 

"  He  can't  go  very  far  on  what  he  will  get  for  your 
overcoat,"  she  said  ironically.  "  He'll  be  back,  never 
fear,  when  he  gets  good  and  hungry,  and  he'll  not 
bring  your  overcoat  with,  him,  either." 


THE  DEATH  OF  UNCLE  JOE  47 

"  My  dear,  whatever  else  Uncle  Joe  may  have  been, 
he  is  not  a  thief,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  stiffly. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  He  may 
have  been  in  the  penitentiary,  for  all  we  know  about 
him.  At  any  rate,  he  lias  stolen  your  overcoat,  and 
your  rubbers,  and  —  and  — " 

"  My  ear-muffs,"  supplied  Mr.  Bingle,  seeing  that 
she  was  taxing  her  memory. 

"  I  suppose  you  regard  all  that  as  the  act  of  an 
honest  man,"  she  said  irritably.  "  I  do  wish,  Tom 
Bingle,  that  you  had  a  little  more  backbone  when  it 
comes  to  — " 

"  Tut,  tut !  "  interposed  Mr.  Bingle,  uncomfort 
ably.  He  resented  her  occasional  references  to  his 
backbone,  or  rather  to  the  lack  of  it. 

" — being  put  upon,"  she  concluded.  "Oh,  just 
to  think  of  the  old  scamp  doing  this  to  you  on  Christ 
mas  Day !  "  she  wailed.  "  No  wonder  his  children  de 
spise  him." 

"  Well,  we'll  see  what  — "  he  began  and  then  cleared 
his  throat  in  some  confusion.  His  wife's  appraising 
eye  was  upon  him. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  see?  "  she  inquired,  after 
a  moment. 

"  We'll  see  what  turns  up,"  said  he,  somewhat  de 
fiantly.  "  I  don't  believe  in  condemning  a  man  un 
heard.  I  have  a  feeling  that  he — " 

"  What  do  you  expect  to  wear  when  you  go 
down  to  the  bank  in  the  morning?  "  she  demanded, 
still  eyeing  him  severely.  "  Your  spring  overcoat  ? 


48  MR.  BINGLE 

People  will   think  you're  crazy.     It's  below  zero." 

"Oh,  I'll  get  along  all  right,"  said  he  stoutly. 
"  Don't  you  worry  about  me,  Mary.  By  hokey,  I 
wish  he'd  come  back  this  afternoon,  just  to  prove 
to  you  that  it  isn't  safe  to  form  an  opinion  with 
out—" 

"  There  you  go,  Tom  Bingle,  wishing  as  you  always 
do  that  somebody  would  do  something  good  just  to 
show  me  that  no  one  ever  does  anything  bad.  You 
dear  old  goose !  Only  the  meanest  man  in  the  world 
could  have  the  heart  to  rob  you.  That's  what  Uncle 
Joe  is,  my  dear  —  the  meanest  man  in  the  world." 

Mr.  Bingle  sighed.  He  was  in  no  position  to  argue 
the  point.  Uncle  Joe  had  not  left  him  very  much  to 
stand  upon  in  the  shape  of  a  theory.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  to  concede  her  the  sigh  of  admis 
sion. 

"  It's  possible,"  he  said  hopefully,  "  that  the  poor 
old  man  is  —  is  out  of  his  head.  Let  us  hope  so, 
at  any  rate."  And  with  this  somewhat  doubtful  sop 
to  the  family  honour,  he  lapsed  into  the  silence  of  one 
who  realises  that  he  has  uttered  a  foolish  remark  and 
shrinks  from  the  consequences. 

Mrs.  Bingle  said  "  Humph,"  and  no  more,  but  there 
is  no  word  in  any  vocabulary  that  represents  as  much 
in  the  way  of  sustained  argument  as  that  homely,  un- 
spellable  ejaculation. 

Mr.  Hooper  did  return,  but  not  until  the  Saturday 
following  Christmas  Day.  He  justified  Mr.  Bingle's 


THE  DEATH  OF  UNCLE  JOE          49 

faith  in  mankind  to  some  extent  by  restoring  the 
overcoat  and  the  arctics,  but  failed  to  bring  back  the 
ear-muffs  and  the  newspaper.  He  also  failed  to  ac 
count  for  his  own  scanty  belongings  which  he  had 
taken  away  from  the  flat  wrapped  up  in  the  news 
paper.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  did  not  feel  called 
upon  to  account  for  anything  that  had  transpired 
since  a  quarter  before  seven  on  Christmas  morning. 
He  merely  walked  in  upon  Mrs.  Bingle  at  noon  and 
told  her  to  send  for  Dr.  Fiddler  at  once.  Then  he 
got  into  bed  and  shivered  so  violently  that  the  poor 
lady  quite  forgot  her  intention  to  berate  him  for  all 
the  worry  and  trouble  he  had  caused.  She  proceeded 
at  once  to  dose  him  with  quinine,  hot  whisky  and 
other  notable  remedies  while  Melissa  telephoned  for 
the  doctor  and  Mr.  Bingle. 

"  Don't  you  think  I'd  better  send  for  Dr.  Smith, 
on  the  first  floor,  Uncle  Joe?  "  said  Mrs.  Bingle  nerv 
ously. 

"  I  want  Dr.  Fiddler,"  growled  the  old  man.  "  I 
won't  have  anybody  else,  Mary.  He's  the  only  doc 
tor  in  New  York.  Well,  why  are  you  standing  there 
like  a  fence-post?  Can't  you  see  I'm  sick?  Can't 
you  see  I  need  a  doctor?  Can't — " 

"  I  only  thought  that  perhaps  Dr.  Smith  could  do 
something  to  relieve  you  before  Dr.  Fiddler  arrives. 
You  should  not  forget  that  Dr.  Fiddler  is  a  great  man 
and  a  —  a  busy  one.  He  may  not  be  able  to  come 
at  once,  and  in  that  case  — " 


50  MR.  BINGLE 

"  He'll  come  the  minute  you  send  for  him,"  ar 
gued  the  sick  man.  "  Didn't  he  say  he  would?  Do 
you  want  me  to  die  like  a  dog?  Where's  Tom?  " 

"  He  is  at  the  bank,  Uncle  Joe,"  said  Mrs.  Bingle 
patiently.  "  Now,  try  to  be  quiet,  we'll  have  the 
doctor  here  as  quickly  as  possible." 

"  I  don't  want  any  of  your  half-grown  doctors, 
Mary,  understand  that.  I  want  a  real  one.  I'm  a 
mighty  sick  man,  and — " 

"  You'll  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two,  Uncle  Joe," 
said  she  soothingly.  "  Don't  worry,  you  poor  old 
dear.  Drink  this." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Never  mind.  It's  good  for  you.  Take  it  right 
down." 

Uncle  Joe  surprised  himself  by  swallowing  the  hot 
drink  without  further  remonstrance.  His  own  do 
cility  convinced  him  beyond  all  doubt  that  he  was  a 
very  sick  man. 

66  Send  for  Tom,"  he  sputtered.  "  Send  for  him  at 
once.  He  ought  to  be  here.  I  am  his  uncle  —  his 
only  uncle,  and  he  — " 

"  Now,  do  be  quiet,  Uncle  Joe.  Tom  will  be  here 
before  long.  It's  Saturday,  you  know  —  a  half  holi 
day  at  the  bank." 

She  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  gently 
stroked  his  hot  forehead.  For  a  short  time  he 
growled  about  the  delay  in  getting  the  doctor  to  the 
apartment;  then  he  became  quietly  watchful.  His 


THE  DEATH  OF  UNCLE  JOE  51 

gaze  settled  upon  the  comely,  troubled  face  of  Tom 
Bingle's  wife  and,  as  he  looked,  his  fierce  old  eyes 
softened. 

"  Mary,"  he  said  at  last,  and  his  voice  was  gentle, 
almost  plaintive;  "you  are  a  real  angel.  I  just 
want  you  to  know  that  I  love  you  and  Tom,  and  I 
want  you  to  tell  me  now  that  you  forgive  me  for  — 
for—" 

"  Sh !     See  if  you  can't  go  to  sleep,  Uncle  Joe." 

"  I'd  just  like  to  hear  you  say  that  you  don't  hate 
me,  Mary." 

"  Of  course,  I  don't  hate  you.  How  can  you  ask 
such  a  question?  " 

"  I've  been  a  dreadful  — " 

"  Hush,  now.  Here's  Melissa.  Did  you  get  Dr. 
Fiddler,  Melissa?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  little  maid-of-all-work,  ap 
pearing  in  the  doorway  with  a  couple  of  blankets  that 
she  had  been  warming  behind  the  kitchen  range. 
"  He's  coming  at  once,  ma'am,  and  — "  her  eyes  were 
expressive  of  an  immense  pity  for  her  mistress  — "  he 
says  he's  prepared  to  stay  all  night  if  necessary,  and 
he's  sent  for  two  nurses,  night  and  day.  Besides  all 
that,  his  assistant  is  coming  with  him." 

"  That's  the  kind  of  a  doctor  to  have,"  said  Uncle 
Joe,  with  a  vast  satisfaction.  "  None  of  your  cheap, 
dollar-a-visit  incompetents  for  me,  Mary.  If  a  man's 
life  is  worth  anything  at  all,  it's  worth  more  than  a 
couple  of  one  dollar  visits  from  these  —  What's  the 


m  MR.  BINGLE 

matter  with  you,  Melissa?  Don't  glare  at  me  like 
that.  Haven't  I  the  right  to  live?  Can't  I  ask  for 
a  doctor  —  a  mere  doctor  —  without  being  — " 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  begrudgin'  you  a  doctor,  Uncle  Joe," 
said  Melissa  shortly.  "  It's  none  of  my  business. 
You  can  have  all  the  doctors  in  New  York  if  you  want 
'em." 

"  I  don't  want  'em,  confound  you,"  exclaimed  Un 
cle  Joe.  "  I  only  want  a  fighting  chance,  that's  all. 
I—" 

"  Nobody's  fighting  you,  is  they?  "  demanded  Me 
lissa,  whipping  a  blanket  across  the  bed  with  more 
energy  than  seemed  necessary.  She  began  tucking 
in  the  edges.  "  I  guess  we've  always  been  pretty  nice 
to  you,  Uncle  Joe  —  every  one  of  us  —  and  I  guess 
we'll  keep  on  being  nice  to  you,  so  don't  growl." 

"  That's  right,  Melissa,"  said  the  sick  man  humbly. 
"  You've  been  a  j  ewel,  my  girl.  I  —  I  shall  never 
forget  you." 

"  I'm  a  soft-hearted  fool  or  I'd  ha' — "  began  Me 
lissa,  somewhat  ominously,  but  checked  herself  after 
a  quick  glance  at  her  mistress's  face.  "  Try  to  go  to 
sleep,  Uncle  Joe,"  she  substituted.  "  I'll  have  some 
toast  and  tea  for  you  when  you  wake  up.  You  — 
you  look  as  if  you  hadn't  eat  anything  since  you  left, 
you  poor  old  thing." 

"  I  hope  Tom  didn't  need  his  overcoat  while  I  was 
away,  Mary,"  said  Uncle  Joe,  abruptly  changing  the 
topic  of  conversation. 

"  He  has  another  coat,"  said  Mrs.  Bingle,  eva- 


'That's  the  kind  of  a  doctor  to  have,"  said  Uncle  Joe 


THE  DEATH  OF  UNCLE  JOE  53 

sively.  "  When  you  feel  better  you  must  tell  us  what 
you  have  been  doing  for  the  past — " 

"  I'm  not  going  to  feel  any  better,"  said  Uncle  Joe, 
quite  cheerfully.  "  I  may  hang  on  for  a  long  time 
but  I'm  not  going  to  be  any  better.  This  is  the  finish 
for  me,  Mary.  And  I'd  like  you  to  know  that  I  didn't 
come  back  here  to  die  on  your  hands  without  first 
giving  my  children  a  chance  to  take  me  in.  I  —  I 
tried  them  once  more." 

"You  —  you  went  to  them  again?"  she  cried. 
Melissa  laid  the  second  blanket  across  the  bed  more 
gently  than  the  first, 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hooper,  his  thick  eyebrows  meet 
ing  in  a  scowl  of  anger.  "  Yes,  I  talked  with  all  three 
of  them  this  morning  before  I  came  here.  I  told 
them  that  I  was  sick  and  —  and  — "  He  choked  up 
suddenly  as  Mrs.  Bingle  began  to  pat  his  lean  old 
knuckles  with  her  soft,  warm  hand. 

"  I  wouldn't  talk  about  it  if  I  were  you,  Uncle 
Joe." 

"  But  I  —  I  want  to  talk  about  it,"  he  said,  with 
an  effort.  "  First  I  wrote  a  nice,  kind  letter  to  each 
one  of  them.  Then  I  called  them  up  on  the  telephone 
and  told  them  all  how  sick  I  was,  that  I  couldn't  last 
much  longer,  that  I  didn't  want  to  die  in  the  street, 
or  a  charity  hospital,  or  —  the  police  station.  That 
confounded  Christmas  Carol  of  yours  made  me  relent. 
I  read  the  thing  the  other  night  after  you  went  to 
bed.  They  all  asked  me  where  I  was  and  said  they 
would  send  an  ambulance  to  take  me  to  Bellevue,  and 


54  MR.  BINGLE 

that  was  the  best  they  could  do  for  me.  After  the 
holidays,  when  they  had  a  little  more  time,  they  might 
possibly  send  me  to  a  sanitarium  if  I  —  if  I  showed 
any  signs  of  improvement.  That  was  all  there  was 
to  it,  Mary.  I  told  them  —  each  one  of  'em  —  that 
I  washed  my  hands  of  them,  and  they  could  all  go 
to  the  devil.  They  won't  do  it,  of  course.  People 
like  that  never  go  to  the  devil  for  the  simple  reason 
that  the  devil  hasn't  anything  to  offer  them  that  they 
don't  already  possess.  And  so,  Mary,  I  came  back 
here  to  see  if  you'd  take  me  in.  You  and  Tom  have 
been  my  best,  my  only  real  friends,  and  I  —  I  thought 
you'd  give  me  another  chance.  If  you  feel  even  now 
that  I  am  going  to  be  too  much  bother  and  expense, 
I'll  get  out.  I'll  go  to  a  hospital  and  — " 

"  Not  another  word,  Uncle  Joe,"  said  Mary  Bingle, 
and  she  kissed  his  grim  old  cheek.  "  Not  another 
word." 

"  Thank  you,  Mary,  thank  you  for  that.  I  —  I 
was  just  wondering  whether  you  could  stand  all  of 
the  expense  and — " 

Melissa  broke  in  sharply :  "  Of  course,  we  can. 
My  wages  can  go  over  till  — " 

"  And  you  will  not  turn  me  out?  "  whispered  Uncle 
Joe,  his  eyes  shining. 

"  Never !  "  said  Mrs.  Bingle. 

"  Never !  "  said  the  maid-of-all-work. 

Mr.  Hooper  turned  over  on  his  side  and  was 
strangely  quiet  after  that.  His  nephew  came  home 
at  three  and  found  himself  confronted  by  two  nurses, 


THE  DEATH  OF  UNCLE  JOE  55 

two  doctors  and  a  cabman  who  was  waiting  in  the 
hallway  for  his  fare.  It  seemed  that  Uncle  Joe  had 
driven  home  in  a  cab,  and  being  somewhat  uncertain 
as  to  the  duration  of  his  stay  in  the  apartment  of 
his  nephew,  instructed  the  fellow  to  wait,  which  the 
fellow  did  for  a  matter  of  more  than  three  hours  and 
was  prepared  to  wait  a  good  while  longer  unless  he 
got  his  pay.  Uncle  Joe's  forgetfulness  cost  Mr. 
Bingle  six  dollars  and  fifty  cents,  and  he  entered  the 
sitting-room  with  a  heart  doubly  sore.  Of  one  thing 
he  was  uncomfortably  certain:  the  nurses  would 
cost  fifty  dollars  a  week  and  they  would  have  to  be 
paid  on  the  dot.  They  were  not  like  doctors,  who 
could  afford  to  wrait.  They  were  working  for  a  liv 
ing. 

Mr.  Bingle's  salary  at  the  bank  was  one  hundred 
dollars  a  month.  He  was  an  expert  accountant,  but 
it  did  not  require  the  intelligence  of  an  expert  to  do 
the  "  sum  "  that  presented  itself  for  his  hasty  con 
sideration.  His  small,  jealously  guarded  account  in 
the  savings  bank  would  be  wiped  out  like  a  flash. 
And  yet  he  entered  the  sick-room  with  a  cheerful 
countenance  and  an  unfaltering  faith  in  the  fitness 
of  all  things.  He  greeted  his  repentant  Sindbad  with 
such  profound  gladness  and  relief  that  one  might  well 
have  believed  him  to  be  happy  in  having  the  burden 
restored  to  his  frail  shoulders. 

"  Well,  well,  here  you  are !  "  he  cried,  rubbing  his 
cold  hands  vigorously  before  offering  to  grasp  the 
bony  old  fingers  that  were  extended  to  him.  "  Glad 


56  MR.  BINGLE 

to  see  you  back,  Uncle  Joe.  Comfortable?  Well5 
well,  how  are  you  ? "  He  shook  his  uncle's  hand 
warmly.  "  Sorry  to  see  you  laid  up  again,  sir,  but 
we'll  have  you  as  good  as  new  in  no  time.  Eh,  doc 
tor?  As  good  as  new,  eh?  " 

Uncle  Joe  had  nothing  to  say.  He  clung  to  his 
nephew's  hand  and  smiled  faintly. 

Mr.  Bingle  looked  puzzled.  This  was  not  like  the 
Uncle  Joe  he  had  known.  He  sent  a  questioning 
glance  toward  the  sober-faced  doctor,  and  then  sat 
down  beside  the  bed,  very  much  shaken  by  the  news 
that  came  to  him  in  the  significant  shake  of  Dr.  Fid 
dler's  head. 

After  many  minutes  had  passed,  Uncle  Joe  began 
to  speak  to  his  nephew.  His  voice  was  weak  and  the 
words  came  haltingly. 

"  Tom,  you  are  a  good  boy  —  as  good  as  gold. 
No,  that  isn't  fair  to  you.  You're  better  than  gold. 
I  honestly  believe  you  like  me,  wretched  and  trouble 
some  as  I  am.  Your  mother  loved  me,  Tom.  No 
one  ever  had  a  sister  who  loved  a  brother  more  than 
she  loved  me.  Thank  God,  she  died  long  before  I 
came  to  this  dreadful  pass.  She  was  spared  seeing 
me  as  I  am  now.  Well,  I  want  to  ask  a  last  favour 
of  you,  nephew.  I  want  you  to  see  that  I  am  buried 
beside  your  mother  up  at  Syracuse.  Just  have  a  sim 
ple  funeral,  my  boy.  No  fuss,  no  flowers,  no  sing 
ing.  Then  take  me  up  to  the  old  burying  ground  and 
—  and  I  won't  bother  any  one  after  that.  I  suppose 
it  will  cost  you  something  to  do  it,  but  —  but  if  you 


THE  DEATH  OF  UNCLE  JOE  57 

knew  how  much  it  will  mean  to  me  now  if  I  have  your 
promise  to  — " 

"  Sh ! "  whispered  Mr.  Bingle.  "  Don't  talk  of 
dying,  Uncle  Joe.  Don't  speak  of  graveyards 
while—" 

"  Will  you  promise  ?  That's  the  question,"  said 
Uncle  Joe  stubbornly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  painfully ;  "  when  the  time 
comes  I'll  lay  you  beside  my  mother.  Don't  worry 
about  it,  Uncle  Joe." 

"  I  hate  to  put  you  to  the  expense  of  — " 

"  Pooh ! "  said  Mr.  Bingle,  as  if  the  cost  of  the 
thing  was  the  merest  trifle  to  him. 

"  If  I  were  to  live  for  a  thousand  years,  Tom,  I 
could  never  find  the  means  to  adequately  compensate 
you  and  Mary  for  the  joy  and  comfort  you  have 
given  me  at  so  great  a  cost  to  yourselves.  By  dying, 
I  may  be  able  to  make  your  load  lighter,  so  I  am  go 
ing  to  die  as  quickly  as  the  doctor  will  allow  me  to  do 
so." 

He  died  at  nine  o'clock  that  night.  The  next  day 
Mr.  Bingle  notified  his  three  children  that  he  was 
taking  their  father  to  Syracuse  for  burial,  and  that 
if  they  chose  to  do  so  they  could  come  to  the  apart 
ment  late  that  afternoon  for  the  brief  funeral 
service.  Geoffrey,  speaking  for  his  sisters  as  well 
as  for  himself,  expressed  regret  that  poor  Tom  had 
been  saddled  with  certain  annoyances  and  inconven 
ience  in  connection  with  the  late  Joseph  Hooper, 
and  that  they,  as  a  family,  would  be  pleased  to  as- 


58  MR.  BINGLE 

sume  the  cost  of  his  funeral,  provided  Tom  would 
present  an  itemised  statement  on  his  return  from 
Syracuse,  covering  all  legitimate  expenses  not  only 
in  connection  with  the  funeral  but  also  anything  that 
may  have  arisen  during  his  most  recent  illness. 

And  Mr.  Bingle,  without  consulting  his  wife,  in 
formed  Geoffrey  that  he  was  quite  able  to  meet  all  of 
the  expenses  without  aid  from  "  the  family  "  and  that 
he  preferred  to  have  nothing  more  said  about  the 
matter.  Whereupon  Geoffrey  told  him  to  go  ahead 
and  do  as  he  pleased  about  it,  and  hung  up  the  tele 
phone  receiver. 

Greatly  to  the  amazement  and  relief  of  the  Bin- 
gles,  Dr.  Fiddler  insisted  on  paying  all  of  the  fun 
eral  expenses,  including  the  railroad  fare  of  the 
two  mourners  to  and  from  Syracuse.  Moreover,  he 
calmly  announced  that  he  would  not  accept  a  penny 
from  Mr.  Bingle  for  services  rendered  the  sick  man. 

"  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  on  the  way  back  to  New 
York  after  the  interment  in  Syracuse,  "  if  everybody 
in  this  world  was  as  good  as  Dr.  Fiddler,  what  a 
happy  place  it  would  be.  Just  think  of  it !  He  gave 
all  of  his  time,  all  of  his  experience  —  everything  — 
and  now  refuses  to  take  a  cent  from  me.  It  isn't 
everybody  who  is  as  easy  on  the  poor  as  that  man  is, 
my  dear.  He  is  a  —  a  real  nobleman." 

Mrs.  Bingle  had  been  thinking  too.  "  Well,  I 
dare  say  he  makes  up  for  it  by  being  a  little  harder 
on  the  rich  every  time  he  finds  it  necessary  to  be 
easy  on  the  poor,"  she  said  cryptically. 


THE  DEATH  OF  UNCLE  JOE  59 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Nothing,"  she  said,  ashamed  of  her  estimate  of 
the  good  doctor.  "  I  shouldn't  have  said  that." 

"  I  insist  on  an  explanation." 

"  Well,  if  you  must  have  it,  I'll  bet  he  gets  even 
somehow.  I'd  hate  to  be  his  next  patient  if  I  was 
rich  enough  to  call  him  in  to  attend  me." 

"  I  am  surprised  at  you,  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Bingle, 
and  his  expression  convinced  her  that  he  really  was. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FORTY    MINUTES    LATE 

ME,.  BINGLE  was  late  at  the  bank  the  morning  after 
their  return  from  the  North.  Not  in  all  the  years 
of  his  connection  with  the  institution  had  such  a 
thing  happened  to  him  —  or  to  the  bank,  for  that 
matter.  He  made  it  a  point  to  be  punctual.  In  his 
opinion,  a  man  was  taking  something  that  did  not  be 
long  to  him  when  he  failed  his  employer  in  the  matter 
of  promptness.  Working  after  hours  to  make  up  the 
lost  time  was,  in  his  estimation,  a  rather  cowardly 
form  of  penance ;  it  was  simply  a  confession  that  the 
delinquent  had  robbed  his  master  of  a  certain  number 
of  fresh  minutes  earlier  in  the  day,  and  was  trying  to 
restore  them  at  the  end  of  the  day,  when  he  was  in 
no  condition  to  give  as  good  as  he  had  taken. 

One  could  set  his  watch  by  Thomas  Bingle.  All  of 
the  clocks,  and  all  of  the  watches,  and  all  of  the 
clerks  in  the  bank  might  be  late,  but  never  Thomas 
Bingle.  He  kept  absolutely  perfect  time,  year  in 
and  year  out.  And  so,  when  he  came  dashing  into 
the  bank  on  this  particular  morning  nearly  forty 
minutes  late,  every  man  in  the  long  counting-room 
jerked  out  his  watch  and  glanced  at  its  face  with  an 
expression  of  alarm  in  his  eyes,  absolutely  convinced 
that  he  had  made  the  heart-breaking  mistake  of  get- 

60 


FORTY  MINUTES  LATE  61 

ting  down  to  work  forty  minutes  too  soon.  Such  a 
thing  as  Mr.  Bingle  getting  down  forty  minutes  too 
late  was  infinitely  more  improbable  than  that  all  the 
rest  of  them  should  have  reported  that  much  too 
early. 

The  tardy  one  was  conscious  of  the  concentrated 
stare  of  sixty  eyes  as  he  slid  onto  the  stool  in  front 
of  his  desk  and  began  to  fumble  with  the  pens  and 
blotters.  The  man  at  his  left  elbow  said  "  well, 
well ! "  and  the  man  at  his  right  elbow  said  "  st !  st ! 
st ! "  with  his  tongue  in  a  most  reproachful  manner. 
They  could  understand  Mr.  Bingle's  absence  for  three 
whole  days,  having  got  wind  of  a  death  in  the  family, 
but,  for  the  life  of  them,  they  couldn't  see  what  he 
meant  by  spoiling  a  perfectly  clean  record  for  punc 
tuality  when  he  might  have  remained  away  for  the 
entire  day,  just  as  well  as  not,  instead  of  upsetting 
a  hallowed  tradition  in  the  bank  by  coming  in  forty 
minutes  late. 

Moreover,  Mr.  Bingle  was  confident  that  all  of  the 
high  officials  in  the  bank,  from  the  president  down  to 
the  seventh  assistant  cashier,  had  noticed  his  tre 
mendous  shortcoming,  and  that  they  were  even  now 
whispering  among  themselves  that  he  ought  to  be  dis 
charged  forthwith.  He  could  feel  people  glaring  at 
him  from  behind;  he  could  feel  the  president's  eyes, 
and  the  four  vice-presidents'  eyes,  and  the  chairman 
of  the  board's  eyes  and  all  of  the  directors'  eyes  bor 
ing  holes  through  the  partitions  to  fix  their  accusing 
gaze  upon  him  as  he  bent  nervously  over  the  huge 


62  MR.  BINGLE 

ledger  and  tried  to  shrink  into  invisibility.  He  had 
committed  a  heinous,  inexcusable,  unpardonable  of 
fence.  He  would  have  to  pay  the  penalty.  After 
all  these  years  of  faithful  service,  he  would  be  kicked 
out  in  disgrace ;  some  one  else  would  be  sitting  in  his 
place  after  luncheon  and  some  one  else  would  be  hang 
ing  his  coat  and  hat  in  the  locker  he  had  used  for 
fifteen  years  without  —  His  eyes  grew  misty  as  he 
bent  a  little  closer  to  the  page  and  tried  to  focus  his 
thoughts  on  what  was  actually  before  him. 

What  difference  would  it  make  to  these  heartless 
plutocrats  and  overlords  when  he  told  them  that  his 
wife  was  ill  and  that  he  could  not  leave  his  home  until 
the  doctor  had  come  to  reassure  him?  What  did 
they  know  about  connubial  happiness  and  connubial 
obligations  ?  They  would  stare  at  him  coldly  —  or 
perhaps  laugh  in  his  face  —  and  say  that  the  fate  of 
a  great  banking  institution  could  not  be  put  in  jeop 
ardy  just  because  Mrs.  Bingle  happened  to  be  criti 
cally  ill.  Mr.  Bingle,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
began  to  appreciate  his  own  importance.  He  began 
to  realise  that  in  all  likelihood  the  bank  would  go  to 
pieces  as  the  result  of  his  failure  to  appear  at  his 
desk  at  the  appointed  minute.  He  recalled  having 
seen  the  first  vice-president  and  the  cashier  in  close 
conversation  as  he  slunk  through  the  little  passage 
behind  the  latter's  office,  and  he  remembered  also  with 
sickening  clearness  that  they  stopped  talking  and 
stared  at  him  as  he  hurried  by.  And,  now  that  he 
thought  of  it,  the  first  vice-president  had  smiled 


FORTY  MINUTES  LATE  63 

pleasantly  and  had  said  something  that  sounded  like 
"  good  morning,  Mr.  Bingle,"  although  it  certainly 
couldn't  have  been  that.  It  was  regarded  as  espe 
cially  ominous  when  an  official  of  the  bank  said  good- 
morning  to  a  clerk  or  a  bookkeeper.  It  meant,  ac 
cording  to  tradition,  that  his  days  were  numbered. 
It  was  a  sort  of  preliminary  sentence.  Later  on, 
there  would  come  a  summons  to  appear  at  the  "  of 
fice." 

Mr.  Bingle  sat  on  his  stool,  his  feet  hooked  rigidly 
in  the  stretchers  as  if  prepared  to  resist  any  effort 
to  yank  him  out  of  the  place  he  had  held  for  fifteen 
years,  and  all  the  while  he  was  listening  for  the  voice 
of  the  messenger  at  his  shoulder,  ordering  him  to  step 
into  Mr.  Force's  room. 

The  trip  to  Syracuse  had  been  too  much  for  Mrs. 
Bingle.  The  railway  coaches  were  cold ;  she  shivered 
nearly  all  the  way  up  and  all  the  way  back,  notwith 
standing  Melissa's  furs  and  the  extra  suit  of  flannels 
she  had  donned  at  Mr.  Bingle's  suggestion.  She 
came  home  with  a  frightful  cold  and  a  temperature 
that  frightened  her  husband  almost  out  of  his  boots. 

She  was  not  in  the  habit  of  taking  long  journeys 
by  train.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  had  never  been 
farther  away  from  Manhattan  Island  than  Hartford, 
Connecticut,  and  that  experience  befell  her  in  the  mid 
dle  of  an  extremely  torrid  June.  Perhaps  a  half- 
dozen  times  in  the  fifteen  years  of  her  married  life 
she  had  gone  to  Peekskill  to  visit  her  mother  and  a 
married  sister,  but  always  in  warm  weather.  Not 


64  MR.  BINGLE 

that  she  was  too  poor  to  make  the  trip  to  Peekskill 
as  often  as  she  liked,  but  her  mother  and  sister  made 
it  unnecessary  by  coming  to  New  York  for  frequent 
and  sometimes  protracted  visits  at  the  Bingle  apart 
ment,  and  usually  without  first  inquiring  whether  it 
would  be  convenient  or  otherwise.  She  very  sensibly 
realised  that  Mr.  Bingle  saw  quite  enough  of  his  wife's 
relatives  in  this  way,  and  refused  to  drag  him  into  the 
country  to  see  more  of  them.  He  had  better  use  for 
his  Sundays,  and  as  for  his  vacations,  they  were  al 
ways  spent  at  home  in  the  laudable  effort  to  save  a 
little  money  against  the  rainy  day  that  people  are 
always  talking  about.  So  Mrs.  Bingle  stayed  at 
home,  and  contrived  to  love  her  good  little  husband 
more  and  more  as  each  narrow  day  went  by,  winter 
and  summer,  year  in  and  year  out,  and  not  once  did 
the  iron  of  discontent  enter  her  soul.  Some  day, 
when  they  could  really  afford  it,  they  were  going 
away  for  a  month's  fishing-trip  in  the  wilds  of  Maine, 
but  all  that  could  wait.  It  was  something  to  look 
forward  to,  and  there  is  a  lot  in  that. 

Neither  of  them  had  ever  dreamed  that  Syracuse 
was  so  near  to  the  North  Pole,  nor  had  they  the  re 
motest  idea  that  the  weather  could  be  so  cold  any 
where  on  earth  as  it  was  in  the  upper  part  of  New 
York  State.  The  coldest  days  they  had  ever  known 
in  New  York  City  —  and  they  had  always  believed 
that  nothing  could  be  colder  —  were  balmy  when  com 
pared  with  that  awful  day  on  the  outskirts  of 
Syracuse  —  that  bleak,  blighting  day  in  the  wind- 


FORTY  MINUTES  LATE  65 

swept  graveyard  where  the  mother  of  Thomas  Bingle 
slept. 

They  fairly  shrivelled  in  their  skins  as  they  stood 
beside  the  open  grave  and  saw,  through  blurred  eyes, 
the  last  of  Uncle  Joe.  Both  of  Mr.  Bingle's  ears 
were  frozen  quite  stiff.  A  much  be-furred  under 
taker's  assistant  rubbed  snow  on  them  with  what 
seemed  to  be  unnecessary  vigour  and  told  him  to  have 
'em  looked  after  when  he  got  back  to  New  York. 
They  were  ugly  things,  those  ears  of  his,  and  Mr. 
Bingle  was  acutely  conscious  of  their  size  and  colour 
as  he  sat  at  his  desk  and  waited  for  word  to  come  to 
"  the  office."  A  sudden  and  almost  insupportable 
itching  of  his  heels  filled  him  with  fresh  alarm,  and 
for  one  ghastly  moment  he  forgot  his  ears  and  his 
crime.  Were  his  heels  frost-bitten?  If  so  —  then, 
what  was  to  become  of  him? 

"  Get  your  uncle  buried  all  right  ?  "  inquired  his 
left-hand  neighbour,  suddenly  speaking  out  of  the 
void.  Mr.  Bingle's  reply  was  a  guilty,  bewildered 
start.  The  man  went  on:  "  What  did  he  die  of?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  hazily,  "  most  assuredly." 

"I  said,  what  ailed  him?" 

66  Why,  he  was  dead,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  vaguely  sur 
prised  by  the  other's  obtuseness.  "  That's  why  we 
buried  him." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  questioner,  after  staring  hard  for 
a  moment.  He  edged  a  little  farther  away  from  Mr. 
Bingle  and  shot  a  swift  glance  of  apprehension  in  the 
direction  of  the  door. 


66  MR.  BINGLE 

"  I  couldn't  help  being  late,"  ventured  Mr.  Bingle, 
his  first  apology  in  fifteen  years.  "  My  wife  is  sick, 
Jenkins  —  mighty  sick.  The  doctor  couldn't  come 
at  once,  so  I  had  to  wait.  She — " 

"  Say,"  said  Jenkins  nervously,  "  the  old  man 
didn't  die  of  anything  catching,  did  he  ?  " 

"  Catching?  " 

"  I  mean  contagious.  Your  wife  hasn't  caught 
anything  from  him,  has  she?  If  she  has,  you 
oughtn't  to  come  around  here  carrying — " 

"  He  died  of  old  age,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  stiffly. 

«  Sure?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  Well,  we  all  catch  that  if  we  live  long  enough," 
said  Jenkins,  considerably  relieved.  "  How  old  was 
he?" 

"  Seventy-three." 

"  Leave  anything?  " 

Mr.  Bingle  was  suddenly  bereft  of  all  power  of 
speech.  Three  men  were  standing  just  outside  the 
long  bronze  caging  that  enclosed  the  bookkeeping- 
department,  and  they  were  looking  at  him  with  a 
directness  that  was  even  more  pronounced  than  the 
stare  of  utter  dismay  with  which  he  favoured  them. 
There  could  be  no  mistake :  they  were  discussing  him 
—  Thomas  Bingle !  And  they  were  discussing  him 
with  unquestionable  seriousness.  His  heart  flopped 
down  to  his  heels  and  his  poor  ears  burned  with  a 
fierceness  that  caused  him  to  fear  that  they  were  on 
the  point  of  bursting  into  flames.  The  first  vice- 


FORTY  MINUTES  LATE  67 

president  was  pointing  him  out  to  the  president, 
there  could  be  no  doubt  about  that ;  and  the  pompous 
president  was  bobbing  his  head  in  a  most  extraor 
dinary  manner,  there  could  be  no  doubt  about  that 
either.  The  third  man  of  the  trio  was  the  chief 
watchman,  and  he  was  looking  at  Mr.  B ingle  as  a  cat 
looks  at  a  captured  mouse.  It  was  all  over!  They 
were  about  to  arrest  him  for  embezzlement  or  murder 
or  something  equally  as  heinous.  Mr.  Bingle  turned 
colder  than  he  had  been  at  any  time  during  his  stay 
in  the  ice-bound  city  of  Syracuse. 

Then  the  trio  abruptly  turned  away  and  left  him 
sitting  there,  frozen  to  the  marrow.  He  tried  to 
swallow,  but  his  throat  was  paralysed. 

"  Gee,  that  looks  bad,  Bingle,"  whispered  Jenkins, 
pityingly.  "  That  was  the  old  man.  What  —  what 
the  dickens  have  you  been  up  to  ?  " 

Mr.  Bingle's  stiff  lips  moved  but  no  sound  came 
forth.  He  was  to  be  discharged !  In  fifteen  years  he 
had  been  late  at  his  desk  but  once,  and  he  was  to  be 
discharged!  What  would  Mary  say?  What  would 
become  of  Mary?  What  would  become  of  Melissa, 
now  that  they  couldn't  afford  to  keep  a  servant? 

"  You  been  here  longer  than  any  one,  too,"  went 
on  Jenkins.  "How  long  has  it  been,  Bingle?  " 

"  Fifteen  years,"  gulped  Mr.  Bingle,  in  a  strange, 
unnatural  voice. 

"  That's  longer  than  the  old  man  himself,"  said 
Jenkins.  "  He's  been  president  less'n  twelve  years. 
Say,  Bingle,  I'm  all  broke  up  over  it.  I  —  I  hope  it 


68  MR.  BINGLE 

ain't  as  bad  as  we  think.  Maybe  —  oh,  I  say,  it's 
your  ears!  That's  what  it  is.  Mr.  Force  was  show 
ing  him  your  ears.  And  say,  take  it  from  me,  Bingle, 
they're  worth  going  a  long  way  to  see,  too.  Good 
Lord,  what  a  relief !  " 

Mr.  Bingle  actually  took  hope.  Could  it  be  pos 
sible?  Were  frozen  ears  so  rare  a  sight  that  the 
president  of  a  great  bank  —  But  even  as  he  grasped 
at  the  straw  he  became  convinced  that  it  was  very 
likely  to  prove  his  salvation,  for,  to  his  amazement 
and  confusion,  the  cashier  and  the  fourth  vice-presi 
dent  strolled  up  to  the  caging  and  regarded  him  with 
the  gravest  interest.  He  bent  his  head  to  the  task 
before  him,  hoping  against  hope  that  it  was  his  ears 
and  not  his  tardiness.  And,  when  he  looked  up 
again  many  minutes  afterward,  other  officials  of  the 
bank  were  looking  at  him  from  various  points  of  van 
tage,  and  all  of  them  were  staring  with  the  most 
amazing  intentness,  quite  as  if  they  had  never  seen 
anything  so  strange  as  the  man  who  had  sat  un 
noticed  in  this  very  spot  for  fifteen  years  and  more. 
Messengers  took  a  peep  at  him  as  they  circled  from 
window  to  window ;  patrons  of  the  bank  sauntered 
past  and  squinted  vaguely  in  his  direction. 

Vice-president  Force  came  back  a  second  time  and 
actually  pointed  him  out  to  an  utter  stranger,  at  the 
same  time  waving  his  hand  at  Mr.  Bingle  in  a  most 
friendly  and  engaging  manner! 

The  poor  bookkeeper  reeled  on  his  stool.  He  laid 
his  pen  down,  removed  the  green  shade  from  over  his 


FORTY  MINUTES  LATE  69 

eyes,  placed  his  blotters  neatly  in  the  rack,  and  turn 
ing  to  Jenkins,  said: 

"I  can't  stand  it,  Jenkins.  I've  —  I've  just  got 
to  know  the  worst.  I'm  going  to  the  office." 

"With  —  without  being  sent  for?"  gasped  Jen 
kins. 

"  There's  no  use  putting  it  off.     I  — " 

A  dapper  little  page  appeared  at  Mr.  Bingle's  el 
bow,  interrupting  him  with  the  curt  remark  that  Mr. 
Force  wanted  to  see  him  when  it  was  convenient. 

"Convenient?"  murmured  Mr.  Bingle,  his  eyes 
bulging. 

"  Well,  great  — "  began  Jenkins. 

"  That's  what  he  said :  convenient,"  said  the  page 
loftily.  "  Gee,  where  did  you  get  them  ears  ?  " 

Mr.  Bingle  got  down  from  his  stool  slowly,  pain 
fully. 

"I  guess  I'll  go  now,"  he  said.  "It's  just  as 
convenient  for  me  to  get  out  now  as  — " 

"  I  can't  understand  that  '  convenient '  business," 
broke  in  Jenkins,  wrinkling  his  brow.  "  Well,  good 
luck,  Bingle.  I'm  sorry." 

Sixty  wistful,  sympathetic  eyes  followed  Mr. 
Bingle  as  he  made  his  way  out  to  the  passage.  The 
word  had  gone  'round  that  "  old  Bingy  "  was  to  get 
the  sack,  and  every  one  was  saying  to  himself  that 
if  they  discharged  a  man  like  Bingle  for  being  late  it 
wouldn't  be  safe  for  any  one  to  transgress  for  even 
the  tiniest  fraction  of  an  instant. 

Half-way   down  the  narrow  aisle  leading  to   the 


70  MR.  BINGLE 

offices,  Mr.  Bingle  stopped  to  wipe  his  brow  and 
pull  himself  together  for  the  coming  ordeal.  A  hig 
and-mighty  young  man  who  had  been  elevated  fro 
a  clerkship  to  the  post  of  third  assistant  forei^ 
teller,  and  who  no  longer  deemed  it  proper  to  ass 
ciate  with  his  erstwhile  companions  in  the  "  galleys 
emerged  from  his  cage  and,  coming  abruptly  upon  tl 
shivering  bookkeeper,  blinked  uncertainly  for  a  m 
ment  and  then  said  in  what  was  unmistakably  a  poli 
and  even  respectful  tone: 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Bingle.  Pleasant  day,  si 
isn't  it?" 

If  Mr.  Bingle  had  been  in  a  condition  to  notl 
such  things  as  miracles,  he  might  have  been  struck  I 
this  one,  but  he  merely  said  it  was  a  pleasant  da 
and  resumed  his  way,  utterly  oblivious  to  the  fai 
that  a  human  being  had  been  completely  transforrm 
before  his  very  eyes.  A  few  steps  farther  on  he  ei 
countered  an  even  mightier  force  than  the  third  a 
sistant  foreign  teller:  the  bank  detective. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Bingle.  Nice  day,  sir,"  sa 
the  bank  detective,  somewhat  eagerly,  and  stood  asi< 
to  let  the  lowly  bookkeeper  pass  without  being  jostle 
—  as  was  the  custom. 

"  Morning,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  still  unimpresse 
It  seemed  to  him  that  every  one  was  evincing  a  sii 
gular  interest  in  the  fact  that  he  was  about  to  1 
discharged  on  a  pleasant  day. 

Mr.  Force  was  seated  at  his  desk  when  Bingle  ei 
tered  the  room  and  found  himself  in  the  presence  ( 


FORTY  MINUTES  LATE  71 

the  man  who  was  certain  to  become  president  when 
"  the  old  man  "  died  —  an  event  that  would  have  to 
occur  if  the  first  vice-president's  dream  of  elevation 
ever  came  true,  for  there  wasn't  the  remotest  likeli 
hood  that  he  would  have  the  sense  of  decency  to  re 
sign,  no  matter  how  old  or  how  senile  he  became  in 
the  course  of  time. 

Now,  Mr.  Force  took  himself  very  seriously. 
Having  married  an  exceedingly  wealthy  woman  after 
a  career  in  which  liveliness  had  meant  more  to  him 
than  livelihood,  he  assumed  that  if  he  treated  the 
world  at  large  with  extreme  aloofness  it  would  soon 
forget  —  and  overlook  —  the  fact  that  he  had  never 
amounted  to  a  row  of  pins  in  the  estimation  of  those 
who  knew  him  as  a  harvester  in  Broadway.  Shortly 
before  his  marriage  —  at  forty-three  —  he  aban 
doned  an  extensive  crop  of  wild  oats  in  the  very  heart 
of  New  York  City  —  announcing  that  he  intended  to 
retire  from  active  business  and  go  to  work. 

Going  to  work  meant  stepping  into  a  bank  as  its 
third  vice-president  the  week  after  his  return  from  a 
honeymoon  spent  with  a  bride  who  held,  in  her  own 
right,  something  over  one-half  of  the  entire  capital 
stock  of  the  institution.  Her  wedding  present  to 
him  was  the  third  vice-presidency  and  the  everlast 
ing  enmity  of  every  director  and  official  in  the  bank. 
He  accepted  both  in  the  spirit  in  which  they  were 
given.  To  the  surprise  of  his  enemies  and  the  scorn 
of  his  friends,  he  promptly  settled  down  and  made 
himself  so  valuable  to  the  bank  that  even  his  wife  was 


72  MR.  BINGLE 

vindicated.  He  managed  in  one  way  or  another  to 
increase  her  holdings  and  soon  was  in  a  position  to 
dictate  to  those  officially  above  him.  He  dictated  so 
effectually  in  the  case  of  the  first  and  second  vice- 
president  that  they  preferred  to  resign  rather  than 
to  continue  the  struggle  to  keep  him  in  his  place. 
Before  he  had  been  in  the  bank  a  year,  he  was  its 
first  vice-president. 

It  was  generally  conceded  that  the  president  him 
self  would  have  been  in  jeopardy  but  for  the  fact  that 
he  was  the  father  of  Mrs.  Force  and  therefore  ex 
empt.  In  order  to  clarify  the  situation,  it  is  neces 
sary  to  state  that  the  bride  inherited  her  extensive 
holdings  from  a  former  husband,  who,  it  appears, 
died  of  old  age  when  she  was  but  twenty-six.  It 
would  also  appear  that  her  father  owed  his  position 
as  president  to  the  influence  of  Mr.  Force's  prede 
cessor,  or  rather  to  the  influence  that  his  daughter 
exercised  over  an  old  gentleman  in  his  dotage.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  the  present  chief  executive  of  the 
bank  was  immune  for  life.  To  quote  the  directorate, 
he  couldn't  be  -forced  out  of  office.  His  son-in-law 
would  be  obliged  to  wait.  He  could  afford  to  wait. 
He  was  forty-four. 

It  has  been  said  that  Mr.  Sydney  Force  was  seated 
at  his  desk  when  Thomas  Bingle  sidled  into  the 
luxurious  office.  It  must  now  be  added  that  he  did 
not  retain  his  seat  for  more  than  a  second  after  Mr. 
Bingle's  entrance.  In  fact,  he  fairly  leaped  to  his 
feet,  frightening  his  visitor  into  a  sudden,  spasmodic 


FORTY  MINUTES  LATE  73 

movement  of  the  hand  in  search  of  the  door-knob 
and  a  backward  shuffle  of  both  feet  at  once.  The 
little  bookkeeper's  alarm  was  groundless.  Mr.  Force 
came  forward,  beaming,  his  hand  extended. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Bingle?  Come  right  in. 
Well,  well,  this  is  splendid.  Too  good  to  be  true, 
'pon  my  word  it  is."  He  was  wringing  the  little 
man's  hand  violently.  "  I  confess  that  I  am  sur 
prised  that  you  considered  it  worth  while  to  come 
down  to  the  bank  at  all,  sir." 

Mr.  Bingle  was  batting  his  eyes  furiously.  He 
was  also  having  a  great  deal  of  difficulty  with  his 
knees. 

"I  —  I  couldn't  help  it,  Mr.  Force,"  he  stam 
mered.  "  I  really  couldn't.  It  is  the  first  time  in  all 
the  years  of  my  connection  with  — " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Bingle,"  interrupted 
Mr.  Force,  with  a  somewhat  sweeping  wave  of  the 
hand  that  took  in  practically  all  of  the  office  and  yet 
no  spot  in  particular ;  "  this  is  Mr.  Sigsbee."  He 
then  stood  aside  and  permitted  Mr.  Bingle  to  dis 
cover  Mr.  Sigsbee,  who  came  hastily  out  of  the  whirl 
ing  background. 

"  Glad  to  meet  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Sigsbee,  giving 
Mr.  Bingle's  hand  a  tremendous  squeeze.  "  I  should 
have  known  you,  Mr.  Bingle,  anywhere  on  earth  from 
the  description  given  to  me." 

Description!  Poor  Bingle's  blood  congealed. 
Description?  That  dreadful  word  could  have  but 
one  application.  It  was  never  used  except  in  con- 


74  MR.  BINGLE 

nection  with  people  who  were  wanted  for  crime.  The 
man  was  a  detective ! 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said  Force,  with  shock 
ing  amiability.  "  Will  you  smoke  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  doing  his  best 
to  pull  himself  together  and  failing  completely.  "  As 
I  was  saying,  Mr.  Force,  my  wife  — " 

At  this  juncture,  the  door  to  an  adjoining  room 
was  thrown  open  and  the  bank's  president  stood  re 
vealed.  At  his  back  was  the  chairman  of  the  board 
and  also  the  cashier,  while  somewhat  indistinctly  as 
sociated  with  the  sombre  elegance  of  the  room  be 
yond  were  the  figures  of  a  peeping  stenographer  and 
an  open-mouthed  secretary  whose  neck  was  gallantly 
stretched  almost  to  the  point  of  dislocation  because 
he  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  push  the  little 
stenographer  out  of  his  line  of  vision. 

"  Well,  well,  Bingle ! "  exclaimed  the  president, 
somewhat  gustily  as  he  hastened  forward.  "  How 
are  you  ?  That  this  should  happen  to  you !  It  is 
unbelievable !  "  He  was  pumping  Mr.  Bingle's  arm. 
"  I  don't  see  how  in  the  world  we  are  to  get  along 
without  you.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself. 
Why  don't  you  — " 

"  Wha  —  what  in  the  name  of  heaven  am  I  ac 
cused  of  doing?  "  blurted  out  Mr.  Bingle  abjectly. 
"  This  is  some  awful  mistake.  I  — " 

"  Accused  of  doing?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Force,  frown 
ing  perplexedly. 

"  What  say,  Bingle  ?  "  inquired  the  president,  who 


FORTY  MINUTES  LATE  75 

wasn't  quite  certain  that  his  hearing  was  what  it  used 
to  be.  "What  say?" 

Mr.  Sigsbee  interposed,  staring  hard  at  the  little 
man.  "  Haven't  you  been  notified  of  —  Oh,  I  say, 
you  have  at  least  seen  the  morning  papers  ?  " 

"  Have  they  printed  anything  about  me  ?  "  gasped 
Mr.  Bingle,  sitting  down  very  suddenly.  "  It's  a  lie, 
gentlemen  —  a  lie,  I  tell  you!  I  haven't  done  a 
thing—" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  — "  began  Mr.  Force,  glar 
ing  at  the  shivering  little  man. 

"  I'll  bring  an  action  against  'em,"  shouted  Mr. 
Bingle  from  the  depths  of  the  huge  chair.  "  I'll  sue 
'em  for  all  they're  worth  if  they've  — " 

"  Haven't  you  seen  the  newspapers  ?  "  demanded 
Mr.  Sigsbee,  bending  over  the  occupant  of  the  chair 
in  what  that  individual  mistook  for  a  menacing  atti 
tude. 

"I  —  I  didn't  have  time  to  look  at  the  paper," 
mumbled  Mr.  Bingle.  "  My  wife  was  so  miserable 
that—" 

"  Well,  by  Jove !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Force,  and  then, 
to  Bingle's  astonishment,  the  five  other  occupants  of 
the  room  were  overtaken  by  a  simultaneous  impulse 
to  shout  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  all  of  them 
crowding  close  about  him  and  barking  unintelli 
gible  exclamations  into  his  very  teeth,  so  to 
speak. 

The  strangest  part  of  it  all  was  that  they  were  in 
high  good  humour  and  laughed  like  maniacs.  He 


76  MR.  BINGLE 

hadn't  the  faintest  notion  what  it  was  all  about,  but 
he  began  to  laugh  shrilly.  He  couldn't  help  it.  He 
certainly  didn't  feel  like  laughing.  The  president 
was  slapping  Mr.  Force  on  the  back  and  shouting 
things  that  fell  upon  deaf  ears,  for  Mr.  Force  was 
shouting  manfully  on  his  own  account.  The  cashier 
stumbled  over  a  chair  in  trying  to  get  at  Mr.  B ingle 
to  grasp  his  hand,  and  the  chairman  of  the  board 
began  pounding  the  helpless  bookkeeper  on  the  shoul 
der  with  a  hand  that  had  all  of  the  weight  and  some 
of  the  resilience  of  a  sledge  hammer. 

It  was  Mr.  Sigsbee  who  finally  settled  down  to  a 
succinct,  intelligent  question,  and  at  once  had  Mr. 
Bingle's  attention. 

"  Didn't  you  receive  my  letter  in  the  morning 
post?  "  he  demanded. 

Mr.  Bingle  no  doubt  intended  to  repeat  the  word 
"  letter,"  being  vaguely  impressed  by  its  significance, 
but  what  he  uttered  was  a  mystified,  syllable-less 
«le'r?" 

"  I  wrote  to  say  that  if  it  suited  your  convenience 
to  come  to  our  offices  this  afternoon  at  three,  I  would 
see  to  it  that  the  other  heirs  were  present,  Mr. 
Bingle." 

"  My  wife's  illness  — "  began  Mr.  Bingle  hazily, 
and  then  brought  himself  up  with  a  jerk.  Heirs? 
What  in  the  world  was  the  man  talking  about  ?  "  I 
—  I  beg  pardon,  sir.  I  didn't  quite  catch  that. 
What—" 

Mr.    Sigsbee    held    up    his    hand,    silencing    him. 


FORTY  MINUTES  LATE  77 

Then  he  turned  to  the  other  gentlemen  and  said  in  a 
strained,  excited  voice: 

"  I  suspect,  gentlemen,  that  it  would  be  better  if  I 
were  to  have  a  few  minutes  alone  with  Mr.  Bingle." 

"  Right ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Force,  regarding  the 
bookkeeper  with  what  seemed  to  be  infinite  compas 
sion  in  his  eyes.  "  Stay  right  where  you  are,  Sigs- 
bee.  We'll  get  out,"  and  he  literally  shoved  the 
others  out  of  the  office,  closing  the  president's  door 
behind  him. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said  Sigsbee,  drawing  a  chair 
up  close  to  the  little  man's  knee,  "  I  want  the  truth. 
Have  you  no  — " 

"  Before  heaven,  Mr.  Sigsbee,  I  —  I  swear  I  am 
innocent  of  — " 

"  Have  you  no  inkling  of  what  has  befallen  you  ?  " 
concluded  the  other. 

"  No,  sir,  I  haven't,"  declared  Mr.  Bingle  with 
conviction. 

"  Well,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Sigsbee,  laying  his  hand 
upon  Bingle's  knee  and  speaking  with  grave  impress- 
iveness,  "  your  late  and  lamented  uncle,  Joseph 
Hooper,  in  his  will,  devises  that  you  are  his  prin 
cipal  —  I  might  almost  say,  his  sole  heir.  He  has 
left  practically  everything  to  you,  sir.  I  —  I  pray 
you,  be  calm.  Do  not  allow  this  astonishing,  this 
prodigious  — " 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bingle,  with  a  huge  sigh  of 
relief  and  a  sudden  relaxing  of  all  his  taut  nerves,  "  I 
know  all  about  that,  Mr.  Sigsbee.  Is  that  all?  " 


78  MR.  BINGLE 

"  All  ?  "  with  a  stare  of  amazement. 

"  We  often  joked  about  it,  poor  old  Uncle  Joe  and 
I.  He  seemed  to  enjoy  a  chuckle  once  in  awhile,  in 
spite  of  the  way  the  world  had  used  him." 

"  I  now  realise  that  you  are  quite  ignorant  about 
the  whole  matter,  Mr.  Bingle.  My  letter  would  have 
enlightened  you,  of  course,  but  as  you  did  not  re 
ceive  it,  I  fear  that  — " 

"  I  didn't  open  my  letters  this  morning.  Quite 
forgot  'em,  sir.  You  see,  Mrs.  Bingle  came  down 
with  a  fearful — " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  interrupted  Mr.  Sigsbee.  "  Perhaps 
it  would  be  well  for  me  to  describe  myself  a  little 
more  clearly  to  you,  Mr.  Bingle.  I  am  of  the  firm 
of  Bradlee,  Sigsbee  &  Oppenheim,  lawyers.  We  have 
been  acting  for  Mr.  Hooper  for  the  past  six  months, 
or,  in  other  words,  since  his  return  to  New  York 
City.  Our  relations  were  of  a  —  er  —  a  somewhat 
secret  nature,  I  may  say.  He  made  the  somewhat 
extraordinary  demand  upon  us,  at  the  time  we  were 
retained,  that  we  should  conduct  his  affairs  with  the 
utmost  secrecy.  Especially,  sir,  were  we  required  to 
keep  you  in  the  dark  as  to  the  real  — " 

"  Just  a  moment,  sir,"  interrupted  Mr.  Bingle,  sit 
ting  up  very  straight,  and  staring.  "  May  I  ask 
one  question?  Are  you  sure  you  haven't  got  my 
Uncle  Joe  confused  with  another  Joseph  Hooper? 
To  my  certain  knowledge,  he  had  no  transactions 
with  lawyers  while  staying  at  my  house.  You've  got 
the  wrong  man,  sir,  I  — " 


FORTY  MINUTES  LATE  79 

"  I've  got  the  right  man,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said  the 
lawyer,  with  a  smile.  "  Your  uncle  was  a  strange 
man.  Have  you  never  heard  of  Joseph  H.  Grim- 
well?  " 

"  Certainly.     Every  one  has  heard  of  him." 

"  Well,  your  uncle  was  Joseph  H.  Grimwell,  the 
millionaire  mine-owner  and  lumber  king.  For  fifteen 
years  the  name  of  Joseph  Grimwell  took  the  place 
of  —  I  beg  your  pardon !  I  did  not  mean  to  put  it 
so  abruptly,  sir.  Calm  yourself !  I  — " 

"  All  right,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  suddenly  collapsing 
into  the  chair  after  struggling  to  his  feet,  his  eyes 
bulging.  "  All  right.  I'm  —  I'm  calm.  Go  on 
with  the  story.  You  can't  expect  me  to  believe  it, 
however.  How  on  earth  could  poor  old  Uncle  Joe 
Hooper,  who  was  actually  starving  when  he  came  to 
me  last  — " 

"  That  is  the  best  part  of  the  story,  Mr.  Bingle," 
said  Sigsbee,  settling  back  in  his  chair  and  linking 
his  plump  hands  benevolently  across  his  expansive 
and  somewhat  overhanging  waistcoat.  "  Tnat  is  the 
best  part  of  the  story,  sir." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    STOEY    OF    JOSEPH 

MR.   BINGLE  went  home  in  a  taxi-cab,  completely 
done  up. 

Back  in  1885,  Joseph  Hooper,  disgraced,  disowned 
by  his  family  and  as  poor  Job's  turkey,  made  a 
brief  but  sufficiently  explicit  will  in  which  he  named 
his  beloved  nephew  Thomas  Singleton  Bingle  as  his 
sole  heir.  He  drew  it  up  on  the  surface  of  a  fresh, 
unused  postal  card,  and  had  it  properly  witnessed  by 
the  bailiff  who  came  to  Bingle's  apartment  to  demand 
his  appearance  before  a  court  to  show  cause  why  he 
should  not  consider  himself  in  contempt  for  having 
disregarded  the  order  to  pay  monthly  sums  in  the 
shape  of  alimony  to  his  late  but  unlarnented  wife. 

In  looking  about  for  the  second  witness,  he  ob 
served  a  levying  deputy  sheriff  in  the  act  of  carrying 
off  his  last  and  only  possession  of  value,  to  wit:  a 
gold-headed  cane  that  had  been  left  to  him  by  his 
father.  With  a  fine  sense  of  irony,  he  persuaded  the 
aforesaid  deputy  sheriff  to  affix  his  signature  to  the 
will,  and  then  remarked  with  deep  sarcasm  that  he 
had  "  put  his  house  in  order  "  so  far  as  it  was  in  his 
power  to  do  so.  Inasmuch  as  the  deputy  sheriff  was 
making  way  with  what  looked  to  be  his  entire  estate, 

80 


THE  STORY  OF  JOSEPH  81 

saving  the  clothes  upon  his  back  and  the  post-card 
(which  he  had  taken  the  precaution  to  address  to  his 
lawyers,  thereby  securing  its  protection  by  the 
United  States  Government),  Mr.  Hooper's  last  will 
and  testament  as  uttered  on  the  16th  day  of  Octo 
ber,  1885,  was  necessarily  brief  and  succinct.  It 
merely  said: 

"  I  hereby  revoke  any  former  will  I  may  have  made 
prior  to  this  date,  and  now  bequeath  to  my  beloved 
nephew,  Thomas  Singleton  Bingle,  my  entire  fortune, 
which  at  this  time  appears  to  be  not  my  face  but  my 
figure.  I  therefore  bequeath  to  him  my  physical 
person,  and  vest  in  him  the  right  to  chuck  it  into  the 
river,  or  to  dispose  of  it  for  medical  purposes,  as  he 
may  see  fit,  provided  however  that  I  shall  first  have 
been  declared  sufficiently  dead  by  competent  judges. 
I  also  bequeath  to  him  any  property,  great  or  small, 
that  may  be  in  my  possession  at  the  time  of  my  de 
mise,  even  though  it  be  no  more  than  the  collar- 
button  with  which  he  so  kindly  supplied  me  this 
morning,  and  which  I  shall  always  retain  as  a  mark 
of  his  devotion,  knowing  well  what  it  means  for  a 
man  to  deprive  himself  of  a  cherished  belonging." 

This  was  written  in  a  very  fine,  cramped  hand,  and 
there  was  ample  room  at  the  bottom  for  his  own 
signature  and  those  of  the  witnesses,  although  it  must 
be  said  that  the  elegant  symmetry  of  the  document 
was  destroyed  by  the  bulging  scrawl  of  the  bailiff, 
whose  name  was  Abraham  Kosziemanowski  and  who 
had  to  turn  the  final  two  syllables  down  at  a  sharp 


82  MR.  BINGLE 

angle  in  order  to  get  the  whole  of  his  signature  on 
the  card. 

Bradlee,  Sigsbee  &  Oppenheim,  on  the  receipt  of 
this  jocose  instrument,  immediately  communicated 
with  their  once  magnificent  client,  who  laconically  in 
structed  them  to  put  it  away  in  a  very  safe  place  as 
it  might  come  in  handy  some  time.  To  their  own 
and  to  his  subsequent  surprise,  they  did  put  it  away 
in  a  safe  place,  but  forgot  all  about  it  until  he  walked 
in  upon  them  fifteen  years  afterwards  and  revealed 
himself  as  the  great  and  only  Joseph  H.  Grimwell. 

Having  once  disinherited  his  children,  he  was  then 
in  the  mood  to  reconsider  his  act,  being  alive  to  the 
fact  that  his  days  were  numbered.  But  he  went 
about  the  business  with  the  sagacity  of  an  old  dog 
who  has  been  kicked  hard  by  some  one  who  was  not 
his  master.  Instead  of  proclaiming  himself  to  be  the 
Midas-like  Joseph  Grimwell,  he  appeared  before  his 
son  and  daughters,  as  poor  old  Joseph  Hooper,  their 
long  lost  father,  as  poor  —  nay,  even  poorer  than 
when  he  went  away,  for  he  had  lost  the  rugged  health 
that  was  his  only  possession  at  the  beginning  of  his 
vicissitudes. 

Assuming  a  condition  of  abject,  though  genteel 
poverty,  he  went  to  each  of  them  in  turn.  He  wanted 
to  give  them  a  chance  to  reconsider,  as  he  had  done. 
But  they  would  have  none  of  him !  Vastly  dismayed 
by  the  failure  of  his  nice  little  scheme  to  trick  them 
into  filial  responsibility,  he  was  on  the  point  of 
shouting  his  denunciations  from  the  house-tops  when 


THE  STORY  OF  JOSEPH  83 

he  suddenly  remembered  Tom  B ingle :  he  wondered  if 
Tom  would  receive  him  —  an  old  derelict  —  with  open 
arms. 

He  presented  himself,  with  his  battered  valise,  at 
the  door  of  Thomas  Bingle's  apartment  —  and  was 
given  a  warm,  even  hearty  reception ! 

And  it  was  on  that  day  —  at  that  very  hour,  so  to 
speak  —  that  Thomas  Bingle  became  a  fabulously 
rich  man  without  the  slightest  effort  or  intention  on 
his  part. 

Mr.  Hooper  one  day  recalled  to  mind  the  postal- 
card  will.  If  his  memory  served  him  right  there  was 
something  jocose  and  undignified  about  it  —  some 
thing  that  would  not  look  well  in  the  public  prints. 
He  visited  the  offices  of  his  lawyers,  recovered  the 
amazing  instrument,  and  forthwith  set  about  to  make 
a  new  will,  bereft  of  certain  grewsome  stipulations 
but  quite  as  sweeping  in  purpose  as  the  other  had 
been.  In  fact,  he  left  his  fortune  —  as  he  had  done 
before  —  to  his  beloved  nephew,  Thomas  Singleton 
Bingle,  with  three  precautionary  bequests  to  his  son 
and  daughters,  providing  against  the  contests  that 
were  sure  to  follow.  He  bequeathed  the  sum  of  one 
thousand  dollars  to  each  of  his  children,  and  he 
signed  his  name  once  more  as  Joseph  H.  Hooper  — 
for  the  first  time  in  fourteen  years. 

His  wanderings  as  a  tramp  —  in  his  own  account 
of  himself  he  used  the  word  "  tramp  "  with  a  shock 
ing  lack  of  pride  —  led  him  inevitably  into  the  far 
Northwest.  Men  were  doing  things  up  there.  The 


84  MR.  BINGLE 

country  fairly  seethed  with  the  activity  of  live,  virile 
men  who  were  taking  the  first  staunch  grip  upon  the 
tricky  wheel  of  fortune  and  were  turning  it  to  their 
own  account.  Every  man  was  building;  no  man 
complained  of  conditions,  for  conditions  were  so  new 
and  so  ready  to  hand  that  he  who  found  fault  was 
merely  lessening  his  own  chance  to  secure  his  share 
of  the  vast  resources  that  spread  before  him,  wel 
coming  the  greedy  fingers  of  him  who  courted  the 
future  and  shunned  the  past.  All  men  lived  in  the 
present  out  there  in  the  great  stretches,  and  all  men 
were  strong  and  eager. 

Joseph  Hooper  caught  the  fever  that  infected  the 
West.  He  shook  off  the  fetters  that  bound  him  to  a 
far  from  enchanted  East,  and  began  to  squirm  with 
the  first  tickling  sensations  of  an  ambition  that  had 
never  really  made  itself  felt,  even  in  the  old  days  of 
successful  achievement  among  men  who  were  content 
to  tread  the  beaten  and  commonplace  highway  to 
ward  riches.  The  spirit  of  the  West  gripped  him  in 
its  great,  enveloping  hands,  picked  him  out  of  the 
slough  and  set  him  down  again,  plump  upon  his  two 
feet,  high  and  dry,  prodding  him  violently  all  the 
while  with  a  spur  that  would  not  permit  him  to  stop 
or  to  take  a  step  backward,  with  the  natural  result 
that  he  moved  forward  —  slowly,  dazedly  at  first, 
and  then  with  a  mighty  rush. 

He  had  one  advantage  over  most  of  the  men  who 
were  being  driven  helter-skelter  by  the  grateful  lash 
of  the  West:  he  was  a  trained  money-getter.  Back 


THE  STORY  OF  JOSEPH  85 

of  him  were  generations  of  shrewd  business  men, 
while  dormant  in  his  own  being  was  the  half-stunned 
thing  called  natural  ability.  The  simple  shrewdness 
of  Joseph  Hooper,  combined  with  a  certain  hitherto 
unconfessed  lack  of  respect  for  the  Golden  Rule,  to 
say  nothing  of  a  vain-glorious  desire  to  kick  the 
world  that  had  kicked  him,  soon  produced  opportu 
nities  that  paved  the  way  for  his  rehabilitation. 

Without  a  dollar  to  his  name,  with  nothing  in  the 
shape  of  resources  save  a  self-sufficient  nerve  and  an 
infinite  eastern  contempt  for  these  struggling  west 
erners,  he  began  to  promote  things  1 

The  field  was  fresh  and  fertile.  Inside  of  two 
years  he  reaped  a  half-dozen  harvests  —  and  re 
planted  as  he  went  along!  First,  he  promoted  a 
street  railway  in  a  place  called  Mockawock;  then  it 
became  necessary  for  some  one  to  establish  reasons 
for  the  existence  of  such  a  thing  as  a  car-line  in  a 
town  that  could  be  traversed  on  foot,  from  one  end 
to  the  other,  in  less  than  eight  minutes ;  so  he  began 
to  promote  the  organisation  of  a  wagon  factory  at 
one  extreme  and  a  pickle  works  at  the  other,  possess 
ing  the  far-sightedness  to  put  them  so  far  away  from 
each  other  that  if  one  wanted  to  go  to  the  pickle 
works  from  the  wagon  factory,  or  vice  versa,  he  would 
have  to  go  by  trolley  unless  he  possessed  the  hardi 
ness  of  an  ox  and  was  not  dismayed  by  the  vastness 
of  the  city  limits.  For  like  all  towns  in  the  great 
Northwest,  Mockawock  had  its  limits  and  they  were 
wide  enough  to  make  New  York  or  Chicago  appear 


86  MR.  BINGLE 

cramped  by  comparison.  One  could  walk  for  hours 
in  a  straight  line  south  from  the  public  square  in 
Mockawock  and  still  not  be  "  out  in  the  country," 
figuratively  speaking,  although  he  might  not  see  a 
house  or  a  human  being  —  unless  he  turned  his  head 
—  after  the  first  ten  minutes.  He  could  also  walk 
west  or  north  in  the  same  futile  effort  to  get  out  of 
the  "  city "  into  the  "  country,"  but  he  could  not 
walk  east  for  more  than  two  city  blocks.  Mocka 
wock  happened  to  be  situated  on  the  shores  of  Lake 
Superior  and  not  even  the  most  boastful  citizen  would 
have  contended  that  the  city  limits  reached  far  in 
that  direction. 

And,  having  successfully  promoted  such  enter 
prises  in  Mockawock  as  would  tend  to  convince  the 
citizens  that  some  day  the  city  limits  would  have  to 
be  extended,  he  very  wisely  took  the  gains  acquired 
in  the  sale  of  options,  the  disposal  of  franchises,  the 
surrender  of  equities,  and  all  such,  and  slipped  away 
to  the  vast  forests  in  the  north,  where  he  bought 
timber-land  by  the  section. 

Another  town  required  stirring  up  by  this  time,  so 
he  descended  upon  it,  backed  by  the  reputation  gained 
at  Mockawock  and,  before  the  citizens  could  say 
Jack  Robinson,  he  had  skilfully  promoted  a  number 
of  enterprises,  including  a  belt  railroad,  an  electric 
lighting  plant,  and  a  new  evening  newspaper,  all  of 
which  fairly  set  the  town  by  the  ears  and  made  him 
one  of  the  most  important  figures  in  the  upper  Lake 
region. 


THE  STORY  OF  JOSEPH  87 

Once  more  he  slipped  off  into  the  forests  and  took 
unto  himself  additional  sections  of  virgin  timber  at 
inconceivably  low  prices.  Other  men  made  much  of 
the  wheat-field  and  the  town-lot,  but  Joseph  Hooper 
saw  fortune  in  the  forests.  Again  and  again  he  in 
creased  his  timber  land  holdings.  People  thought 
he  was  buying  up  town-sites  and  smiled  smugly 
among  themselves  as  they  discussed  the  dreadful 
shock  he  was  to  have  when  the  time  came  for  him  to 
begin  clearing  away  the  timber  1 

All  this  time  he  was  known  as  Joseph  H.  Grimwell. 
There  was  no  such  person  as  Joseph  Hooper.  That 
discredited  individual  had  died,  so  to  speak,  by  the 
wayside,  a  vagabond.  New  York  had  lost  track  of 
him ;  his  family  believed  him  to  be  dead  —  or  in 
prison !  It  is  barely  possible  that  he  ought  to  have 
been  incarcerated  for  some  of  his  skilfully  manipu 
lated  enterprises,  but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with 
this  narrative.  It  is  relevant  to  dwell  only  upon  the 
contention  that  riches  come  swiftly  to  him  who  makes 
use  of  both  hands  without  caring  whether  the  left 
knows  what  the  right  is  doing  or  the  other  way  about. 
At  any  rate,  Joseph  Grimwell  was  a  better  man  than 
Joseph  Hooper  ever  had  been,  and  he  was  a  wiser  man 
in  many  respects  than  Solomon  the  historic. 

In  brief,  there  came  a  day  when  his  timber  turned 
to  gold.  The  name  of  Grimwell  became  a  household 
word.  It  even  penetrated  to  the  secret  crannies  of 
Wall  Street.  Men  who  did  not  know  oak  from  soft 
pine  began  to  plead  with  him  to  be  "  let  in  on  the 


88  MR.  BINGLE 

ground  floor."  Gentlemen  who  sat  in  mahogany 
offices  and  worshipped  at  unseen  shrines,  took  notice 
of  this  man  of  the  West  who  was  getting  more  than 
his  share  of  the  pillage.  Promoters  sought  him  out 
and  haggled  with  him  —  haggled  with  the  prince  of 
promoters !  They  tried  to  let  him  into  the  secret  of 
making  money  \ 

Fortune  may  not  always  favour  the  brave,  but  it 
continues  to  do  a  little  something  every  now  and  then 
for  the  bold.  In  Joseph  Grimwell's  case,  it  over 
looked  the  fact  that  he  was  neither  brave  nor  bold 
but  rewarded  him  for  being  interestingly  tricky. 
Out  of  sheer  respect  for  his  cleverness  in  acquiring  all 
of  the  timber  land  available,  Fortune  set  about  to 
outdo  him  in  productiveness.  It  suddenly  remem 
bered  that  it  had  placed  three  rich  copper  deposits  in 
separate  and  distinct  parts  of  his  land  and  kindly 
directed  him  to  the  spots. 

Now,  copper  can  be  turned  into  gold  quite  as 
readily  as  ice,  or  beef,  or  hops,  or  any  of  the  products 
of  man's  experimentation,  just  as  one  can  make  hay 
while  the  sun  shines,  even  though  his  field  of  activity 
lies  at  the  bottom  of  an  oil-well.  Mr.  Grimwell  made 
gold  out  of  his  copper,  just  as  he  made  it  out  of  oak 
and  pine  and  ash,  and  when  he  came  to  be  three  score 
years  and  ten  he  had  so  many  dollars  that,  like  Old 
Mother  Hubbard,  he  didn't  know  what  to  do  with 
them. 

It  suddenly  dawned  upon  him  that  there  was  no  one 


THE  STORY  OF  JOSEPH  89 

to  whom  he  could  leave  this  vast  accumulation  unless 
he  made  peace  with  his  past. 

He  sold  out  all  of  his  holdings,  reducing  every 
thing  to  coin  of  the  realm,  and  once  more  became  a 
wanderer  in  search  of  a  place  to  lay  his  head.  With 
fourteen  or  fifteen  millions  of  dollars  in  his  purse,  so 
to  speak,  he  slunk  into  New  York,  a  beggar  still  and 
hungrier  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life. 

Then  he  tried  out  the  plan  that  failed.  His  law 
yer  and  his  doctor  alone  knew  that  Joseph  Grimwell 
and  Joseph  Hooper  were  one  and  the  same  person, 
and  they  were  pledged  to  secrecy.  One  of  them  drew 
up  his  will  and  the  other  made  death  as  easy  as  pos 
sible  for  him.  His  nephew,  poor  wretch,  buried  him 
in  a  grave  alongside  a  devoted  sister,  froze  his  ears 
while  doing  so  —  and  lost  his  job  in  the  bank  be 
sides  ! 

The  new  will  was  read  in  the  offices  of  Bradlee, 
Sigsbee  &  Oppenheim  on  the  day  following  Mr. 
Bingle's  first  ride  in  a  taxi-cab.  The  heir  was  too 
bewildered  to  attend  the  meeting  arranged  for  the 
same  afternoon,  and  it  had  to  be  postponed.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  sent  word  to  the  lawyers  that  his 
wife  was  too  ill  to  come  down  that  afternoon  but 
would  doubtless  be  better  on  the  following  day. 
When  informed  that  his  wife's  presence  was  unneces 
sary  and  that  his  cousins  were  even  then  on  their  way 
down  town  and  that  there  was  no  way  to  head  them 
off,  he  blandly  inquired  if  it  wouldn't  be  possible  to 


90  MR.  SINGLE 

postpone  the  whole  matter  for  a  week  or  two,  assur 
ing  the  gentlemen  that  he  wouldn't,  for  all  the  world, 
disturb  Mrs.  Bingle,  who  appeared  to  be  sleeping 
comfortably  for  the  first  time  in  twenty-four  hours. 
In  fact,  he  informed  them  that  he  thought  it  would 
be  a  mistake  to  break  the  news  to  her  while  her  cold 
was  so  bad ;  as  for  himself,  he  didn't  mind  waiting  a 
week  or  two  —  not  in  the  least  —  if  it  was  all  the 
same  to  Mr.  Sigsbee. 

It  was  Melissa  who  broke  the  news  to  Mrs.  Bingle, 
and  it  was  at  once  apparent  that  it  was  not  a  mis 
take  to  do  so.  The  good  lady  improved  so  rapidly 
that  she  sent  for  the  expensive  Dr.  Fiddler,  dismissing 
the  cheap  Dr.  Smith,  and  by  seven  o'clock  that  even 
ing  declared  that  she  had  never  felt  better  in  all  of 
her  life. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  fire  me  now,  Mr.  Bingle," 
Melissa  had  said  dejectedly.  "  With  all  that  money, 
you'll  be  wanting  high-priced  servants." 

66  Quite  so,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  magnificently. 
"  Much  higher-priced,  Melissa." 

"  You'll  never  find  any  one  that  loves  you  more 
than  I  do,"  began  Melissa,  on  the  verge  of  tears. 

"  Allow  me,"  interrupted  Mr.  Bingle,  with  a  sweep 
of  the  hand.  "  The  highest  priced  servant  in  our 
employ  is  to  be  Melissa  Taylor,  which  is  you,  my  girl. 
We  shall  probably  keep  two  or  three  servants  —  if 
we  can  find  anything  for  them  to  do  —  but  none  of 
'em  shall  receive  as  much  as  you,  Melissa.  Put  that 
in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it." 


THE  STORY  OF  JOSEPH  91 

"I  —  I  wasn't  asking  for  a  raise,  sir,"  murmured 
Melissa,  in  considerable  distress. 

"  You  get  it  without  asking,"  said  Mr.  Bingle.  It 
should  be  remembered  that  he  was  still  very  much 
dazed  and  bewildered. 

"  Maybe  you'll  be  having  a  butler  and  a  regular 
chef.  They  come  pretty  high,  sir,"  advised  Melissa, 
spilling  a  little  of  Mrs.  Bingle's  tea  on  the  counter 
pane.  "  Oh,  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Bingle." 

"  Never  mind,  Melissa,"  said  Mr.  Bingle.  "  I 
guess  we  can  afford  to  spill  a  little  tea  if  we  like. 
I've  no  doubt  that  a  butler  would  spill  a  great  deal. 
It  doesn't  matter  what  we  have  to  pay  him  —  if  we 
have  him  —  you  shall  have  five  dollars  a  month  more 
than  he  gets.  That's  settled." 

The  least  important  person  at  the  "  reading  of  the 
will "  was  the  little  man  who  sat  hunched  up  in  a 
chair  and  gazed  about  him  with  perplexed  eyes,  occa 
sionally  touching  his  sore  ears  with  tender  fingers, 
and  always  regretting  the  act  for  the  reason  that  it 
called  the  attention  of  his  cousins  to  something  that 
appeared  to  gratify  them  a  great  deal  more  than  the 
actual  business  at  hand.  In  fact,  he  never  quite  got 
over  that  miserable  hour  of  inspection  on  their  part. 
He  never  ceased  to  regret  the  condition  of  his  ears 
on  that  stupendous  occasion.  What  might  have 
been  a  really  impressive  hour  in  his  life  was  spoiled 
by  the  certainty  that  every  one  was  paying  more 
attention  to  his  misfortune  than  to  his  fortune. 

Of  course,  the  conditions  of  the  will  were  pretty 


92  MR.  BINGLE 

well  known  to  the  three  children  of  Joseph  Hooper, 
hours  before  they  were  read  to  them.  They  knew 
that  their  detestable  father  had  practically  disin 
herited  them,  but  they  were  not  prepared  for  the 
staggering  baseness  employed  by  the  old  man  in  giv 
ing  his  reasons  for  cutting  them  off.  To  their 
chagrin,  mortification,  even  shame,  they  were  com 
pelled  to  listen  to  at  least  a  dozen  letters  that  they 
had  written  to  their  father  during  the  period  covered 
by  his  supposed  degeneracy.  The  originals  of  these 
letters,  stained,  dirty,  frazzled  but  incontrovertibly 
genuine,  were  attached  to  the  instrument,  and  were 
referred  to  in  certain  specific  recommendations  incor 
porated  in  the  body  of  the  will  itself. 

Old  Joseph  had  preserved  the  letters  of  his  chil 
dren.  They  were  emphatic  evidences  of  their  atti 
tude  toward  him  from  first  to  last.  There  was  no 
such  thing  as  going  behind  them.  It  might  be  pos 
sible  to  produce  proof  that  the  testator  was  unsound 
of  mind,  but  it  would  never  be  possible  to  wipe  out 
the  written  declarations  of  his  mentally  perfect  son 
and  daughters.  In  these  delectable  missives  they 
completely  disowned  him  as  a  father;  they  raked  him 
fore  and  aft ;  they  riddled  him  with  a  hundred  shafts 
of  scorn ;  they  repeatedly  said  that  they  never  wanted 
to  see  his  face  again ;  they  put  him  out  of  their  lives 
and  urgently  requested  him  to  put  them  out  of  his ; 
they  expected  nothing  of  him  and  they  certainly  did 
not  want  him  to  expect  anything  of  them ;  and  so  on 
and  so  forth.  And  in  spite  of  all  these  bitter  rebuk- 


THE  STORY  OF  JOSEPH  93 

ings,  old  Joseph  had  come  back  to  New  York  ready 
and  willing  to  let  bygones  be  bygones  if  they  would 
only  meet  him  half  way. 

Geoffrey  declared  in  so  many  words  that  his  father 
had  played  a  scurvy  trick  on  all  of  them.  He  man 
aged  to  give  utterance  to  this  violent  opinion  before 
his  attorney  could  check  his  unnecessary  eloquence. 
After  that,  Geoffrey,  subdued  and  desolate,  kept  ex 
tremely  quiet  and  suffered  considerably  under  the 
convicting  gaze  of  his  sisters  and  their  husbands,  all 
of  whom  were  inclined  to  disown  him  there  and  then 
as  a  brother  for  his  reckless  implication  that  their 
father  was  as  sane  as  any  of  them. 

Thomas  Singleton  B ingle  was  to  receive,  in  round 
figures,  fifteen  million  dollars  under  the  will  of  his 
uncle,  after  the  funeral  expenses  and  all  just  debts 
had  been  paid.  It  was  really  quite  staggering.  If 
Thomas  Singleton  Bingle  had  not  been  so  completely 
wrapped  up  in  his  ears,  it  is  certain  that  he  would 
have  acted  as  any  other  intelligent  human  being 
would  have  acted  at  a  time  like  this.  He  would  have 
gone  stark,  staring  mad. 

But  wait!  After  all,  he  did  become  a  bit  daffy. 
Observing  the  desolated,  crushed  attitude  of  his  three 
cousins,  his  honest  heart  smote  hi-  sorely.  He  piped 
up  from  the  depths  of  his  chair  and  announced  that 
all  he  wanted  out  of  the  estate  was  the  amount  that 
he  had  actually  expended  in  caring  for  Uncle  Joe 
during  the  past  few  months.  He  would  be  satisfied 
with  that  and  —  But  he  got  no  farther.  Mr.  Sigs- 


94  MR.  BINGLE 

bee  hastened  to  remind  him  that  he  hadn't  anything 
to  say  about  it.  He  didn't  have  a  voice  in  the  mat 
ter.  And  then  Angela  and  Elizabeth  scornfully  ob 
served  that  it  was  a  pretty  time  to  talk  about  that 
sort  of  thing,  after  he  had  so  skilfully  succeeded  in 
influencing  their  poor,  mentally  unbalanced  father 
to  make  a  will  like  this  one. 

Right  heroically,  Mr.  Bingle  declared  that  he  was 
willing  to  give  all  of  his  inheritance  to  any  deserving 
charity,  or  charities,  reserving,  if  no  one  objected,  a 
sufficient  amount  to  enable  him  to  purchase  a  little 
farm  on  which  he  could  spend  the  rest  of  his  days  and 
not  have  to  go  on  forever  as  a  bookkeeper  in  a  bank. 

"  Bosh ! "  said  Geoffrey  Hooper,  glaring  at  his 
rich  cousin. 

"  Ridiculous  !  "  cried  Angela  and  Elizabeth,  trans 
fixing  Mr.  Bingle  with  glittering  eyes. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  arising  hastily. 
66  Let  it  be  bosh  and  ridiculous,  just  as  you  like.  I 
would  have  been  willing  to  take  this  small  amount, 
just  as  I  have  said,  and,  what's  more,  I  might  have 
been  willing  to  divide  the  estate  into  four  equal  parts 
—  if  Mr.  Sigsbee  would  let  me  do  it  —  but  now  I'll 
be  damned  if  I'll  do  anything  for  either  of  you. 
You  don't  deserve  a  nickel,  not  one  of  you.  You  had 
your  chance  and  you  didn't  take  it.  I  fed  and 
clothed  and  housed  your  father  and  I  stood  ready  to 
spend  my  last  dollar  to  make  his  last  few  days  on 
earth  comfortable  and  easy.  I  buried  him.  I  went 
to  his  funeral.  I  took  the  chance  of  losing  my  job 


THE  STORY  OF  JOSEPH  95 

by  doing  so.  I  froze  my  ears  —  oh,  look  at  'em !  I 
don't  care.  And  now  you  —  you  three !  You  can 
go  to  the  devil,  with  my  compliments  as  well  as  Uncle 
Joe's.  Come  along,  Mary!  Let's  get  out  of  this. 
We've  got  fifteen  million  dollars  coming  to  us,  and 
we  don't  have  to  sit  here  and  be  insulted  by  people 
to  whom  we  have  offered  charity.  Good  day,  Mr. 
Sigsbee.  If  you  want  me  for  anything,  you'll  find 
me  at  the  bank.  Now,  be  sure  you  wrap  your  throat 
up  carefully,  Mary.  Don't  take  any  chances.  You 
look  as  though  you  were  overheated." 

Mr.  Sigsbee  followed  them  into  the  corridor,  where 
he  shook  hands  with  the  indignant  heir. 

"Your  troubles  have  just  begun,  Mr.  Bingle,"  he 
said,  with  a  genial  smile. 

"How's  that?" 

"  We'll  have  a  long,  bitter  fight  on  our  hands,  but 
—  we'll  win.  There  will  be  a  contest,  you  see." 

"  All  right,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  his  eyes  snapping. 
"  I'm  ready.  I  stood  by  Uncle  Joe  when  he  was 
alive,  you  can  bet  your  last  dollar  I'm  not  going  back 
on  him  now  that  he's  dead." 

That  evening,  sitting  over  the  crackling  grate  fire, 
Mr.  Bingle  broke  a  long  period  of  silence  by  remark 
ing  to  his  wife: 

"  I  dare  say  we  can  afford  to  adopt  one  or  two, 
Mary,  with  all  this  money  we're  going  to  have." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   HONOURABLE   THOMAS   SINGLETON   BINGLE 

TIME  flies. 

It  is  another  Christmas  Eve,  ten  years  later  than 
the  one  described  in  the  opening  chapter  of  this  nar 
rative.  The  Honourable  Thomas  Singleton  Bingle 
is  preparing  for  his  annual  reading  of  "  The  Christ 
mas  Carol."  The  sentiment  which  influences  him  on 
this  occasion  is  the  same  that  inspired  the  habit  in 
his  days  of  long  ago,  but  the  surroundings  have 
changed.  Now  the  vast  drawing-room  in  the  home 
of  Mr.  Bingle  provides  the  setting  for  an  elaborate 
observance  of  a  custom  that  has  become  almost  his 
toric  to  those  who  have  studied  the  life  and  habits  of 
Mr.  Bingle.  An  imposing  English  butler,  assisted 
by  two  able  footmen  and  the  head  gardener  of  the 
estate,  are  employed  in  the  final  decoration  of  the 
huge  room.  For  seven  or  eight  years  they  have  per 
formed  these  Christmas  Eve  duties  in  the  mansion  on 
the  Sound.  Melissa,  a  trifle  more  buxom  than  in  the 
days  of  the  lower  West  Side  apartment  but  quite  as 
capable  despite  her  secret  knowledge  that  she  receives 
a  greater  salary  than  the  mighty  Diggs,  is  superin 
tending  the  hanging  of  a  row  of  stockings  along  the 

96 


THOMAS  SINGLETON  BINGLE          97 

mantel-ledge,  stockings  of  variegated  hues  and  dis 
tinguishing  sizes. 

There  are  eleven  children  in  the  family  now. 
They  range  from  one  year  up  to  twelve.  Kathleen 
and  Frederick  divide  the  distinction  of  seniority,  both 
being  twelve.  There  is  some  doubt  as  to  the  actual 
age  of  Henrietta  and  Guinevere,  but  for  the  sake  of 
policy,  Henrietta,  who  came  first,  is  down  in  the  fam 
ily  records  as  six,  Guinevere  as  five,  although  Mrs. 
Bingle  herself  confesses  that  they  came  but  six  weeks 
apart,  and  at  a  time  when  a  few  weeks,  either  way, 
make  little  or  no  difference  in  the  computation.  This 
was  the  nearest  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingle  ever  came 
to  being  blessed  with  twins.  For  awhile  they  hoped 
that  they  could  make  twins  out  of  these  infants,  but, 
as  the  children  grew  older,  the  impracticability  of 
such  a  thought  —  or  ambition  —  became  clear  to 
them,  and  they  reluctantly  abandoned  the  project. 
Henrietta  revealed  all  the  characteristics  of  being  of 
Italian  extraction,  while  Guinevere  was  unmistakably 
Irish. 

If  you  were  to  take  a  motor-ride  along  the  North 
Shore  of  Long  Island  Sound  and  feel  your  way  back 
into  private  lanes  that  appear  to  lead  nowhere  in 
particular,  they  are  so  deviously  circuitous,  you 
would  pass  by  the  lodge  gates  of  two  magnificent  es 
tates.  One  of  them  belonged  to  Mr.  Bingle,  the 
other  to  Sydney  Force  —  or,  more  strictly  speaking, 
to  Mrs.  Sydney  Force.  It  is  worthy  of  mention  that 
Mr.  Force  lived  up  to  his  theory  of  regeneration  by 


98  MR.  BINGLE 

selling  to  Mr.  Bingle,  at  a  tremendous  profit,  one 
hundred  acres  off  of  the  least  desirable  end  of  his 
late  father-in-law's  estate,  thereby  proving  to  himself 
that  the  early  bird  is  a  much  smarter  creation  than 
the  one  which  is  satisfied  to  possess  a  mere  nest-egg. 
Of  course,  the  selling  of  that  "  parcel  "  of  land  was 
provocative  of  most  acrimonious  disputes  between 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Force.  Mrs.  Force,  while  not  averse 
to  the  sale  of  the  land,  was  frightfully  cut  up  by  the 
fact  that  she  was  to  have  the  impossible  Singles  as 
neighbours,  and  Mr.  Force,  who  was  the  prince  of 
snobs,  berated  her  soundly  for  petty  snobbishness. 

"  Bingle  is  such  a  hopelessly  common  name,"  she 
said. 

"  It  happens  to  be  a  proper  name,"  remarked  Mr. 
Force,  resorting  to  a  rather  lame  sort  of  wit. 

"  If  it  only  had  been  Mrs.  Bransone  or  Mrs.  Mor 
timer,"  she  sighed.  "  They  are  awfully  smart,  don't 
you  know.  One  meets  them  everywhere." 

"  We  couldn't  have  sold  that  piece  of  land  to 
either  one  of  'em,"  said  he.  "  They  are  much  too 
smart  for  that." 

Mr.  Bingle  erected  a  very  costly  and  magnificent 
house,  much  against  his  will,  and  spent  a  great  deal 
of  time  thereafter  in  wishing  that  he  was  back  in  the 
five-room  apartment  where  he  could  put  his  hand  on 
anything  he  wanted  without  having  to  call  for  a  serv 
ant  to  tell  him  where  to  find  it.  He  was  so  stupen 
dously  rich  and  so  completely  awed  by  the  importance 
of  being  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Force  that  he  became 


THOMAS  SINGLETON  BINGLE          99 

a  most  desirable  neighbour,  from  that  lady's  point  of 
view.  She  experienced  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in 
association  with  a  man  who  could  be  made  to  feel  as 
small  as  he  gave  every  sign  of  being  when  in  her 
august  presence.  It  was  really  a  joy  to  her.  With 
all  his  money,  he  could  not  induce  his  wife's  gowns  to 
hang  as  Mrs.  Force's  hung;  he  could  not  make  her 
boots  fit  as  neatly,  nor  her  hats  sit  as  naturally ;  he 
could  not  buy  style  or  majesty  for  Mrs.  Bingle.  So 
he  was  the  kind  of  neighbour  to  have.  Any  woman 
will  tell  you  that. 

Diggs  was  telling  Watson,  the  footman,  just  where 
to  put  the  mistletoe.  Watson's  position  was  precari 
ous.  He  was  at  the  top  of  a  step-ladder,  struggling 
to  reach  the  lowest  crystal  pendant  on  the  enormous 
chandelier,  and  the  ladder  was  wabbling. 

"  It's  all  tommy-rot,"  muttered  Watson,  apropos 
of  nothing  that  had  gone  before. 

"  Wot's  all  tommy-rot  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Diggs 
severely. 

"  Christmas  Eve,"  said  Watson.  "  I  have  no  ob 
jection  to  Christmas  morning,  but  'ang  me  if  I  can 
see  any  sense  in  Christmas  Eve.  What's  it  good  for, 
anyway?  " 

"  You'd  better  get  a  taller  ladder,"  said  Mr.  Diggs. 
"  It's  getting  on  towards  'alf-past  eight.  We  can't 
be  all  night  'anging  that  bunch  of  mistletoe,  you 
know." 

Melissa  paused  in  her  work  long  enough  to  devote 
an  appraising  look  upon  Watson. 


100  MR.  BINGLE 

"  You  look  very  handsome  up  there,  Watson.  It 
gives  you  a  very  good  height.  Straighten  your  legs 
out  a  bit.  If  you  stand  up  as  straight  as  you  can 
you'll  be  as  tall  as  Mr.  Diggs  thinks  he  is." 

"  See  here,  my  fine  lady,"  began  Diggs,  annoyed. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  pardon,  Mr.  Diggs,"  cried  Melissa. 
"  I  didn't  see  you." 

"  You'll  get  your  walking  papers  if  you  don't  keep 
your  place,"  said  Diggs  ominously. 

"  And  I'll  keep  my  place  if  I  don't  get  my  walking 
papers,"  retorted  Melissa,  airily. 

"  And  what's  more,"  went  on  the  butler,  "  you'll 
get  the  sack  anyway  if  you  don't  stop  filling  the 
kids  up  with  them  yarns  of  yours.  The  nurses  were 
telling  Mrs.  Bingle  that  the  children  didn't  go  to 
sleep  for  hours  last  night,  they  were  that  scared." 

"  Seeing  ghosts,  dragons  and  goblins  all  night 
long,"  said  Hughes,  the  second  footman,  shoving  a 
big  chair  into  position. 

Chairs  from  all  parts  of  the  house  had  been  brought 
to  the  drawing-room  and  arranged  in  a  semi-circle  in 
front  of  the  huge  fireplace,  at  one  corner  of  which 
stood  Mr.  Bingle's  reading  lamp,  accurately  placed 
at  the  edge  of  a  costly  little  Italian  table.  There 
were  big  chairs  and  little  chairs,  soft  chairs  and  hard 
ones,  chairs  of  velvet  and  chairs  of  silk,  chairs  of 
ancient  needle-point  and  chairs  that  could  not  be  sat 
upon. 

"  I  didn't  tell  any  ghost  stories  yesterday,"  said 


THOMAS  SINGLETON  BINGLE        101 

Melissa.  "I  told  'era  about  robbers  &ntl  kidnap 
pers." 

"  Get  the  ladder,  Watson,"  said  Diggs.  "  What 
are  you  standing  there  for?  Do  you  think  it's  a 
pedestal  you're  on?  " 

"  I  just  wanted  to  say  that  three  of  the  kids  saw 
sea-serpents  and  crocodiles  in  their  dreams  — " 

"  Don't  lay  it  to  me,  Watson,"  broke  in  Melissa. 
"  I'm  not  to  blame  if  they  had  delirium  tremens.  I 
didn't  give  them  anything  to  drink." 

"I  —  I  shall  have  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Bingle  about 
you,  Melissa,"  exclaimed  Diggs  severely. 

"  Do !  She  is  always  complimented  when  you 
condescend  to  speak  to  her,  Mr.  Diggs." 

"  Don't  scrap,"  put  in  the  gardener  mildly.  "  Re 
member  it's  Christmas  Eve." 

"  Oy-yoy  •  "  groaned  Watson.  "  We've  all  got  to 
listen  to  Mr.  Bingle  read  Dickens  again.  It  will  be 
the  sixth  time  I've  'card  The  Christmas  Carol  in  this 
'ere  room."  He  departed  in  quest  of  the  tall  step- 
ladder,  banging  Hughes  on  the  shins  with  the  small 
one  as  he  swung  past. 

Hughes  said  something  under  his  breath  and  then, 
with  a  quick  glance  at  Melissa,  went  on :  "I  will 
say  this  for  the  old  boy,  he  makes  Christmas  a  merry 
one  for  all  of  us." 

"  Must  I  remind  you  again,  Hughes,  not  to  speak 
of  the  master  as  'the  old  boy'?  Please  remember 
that  you  were  engaged  as  a  trained  servant." 


102  MR.  BINGLE 

•fc  Well,  I'd  ha?e  you  to  know,  Mr.  Diggs,  that  I'm 
not  one  of  your  bally  English  servants.  I'm  as  good 
an  American  as  any  one,  and  I  say  what  I  please." 

"  You  were  engaged  as  an  English  footman.  I 
distinctly  told  you  that  at  the  intelligence  office  when 
I  engaged  you.  You  may  be  as  American  as  you 
please  on  your  days  out,  but  while  you  are  on  duty  in 
this  'ouse,  you've  got  to  be  as  English  as  I  am,  or  — " 

"  Oh,  I  can  drop  'em  as  well  as  any  one,  Mr. 
Diggs,"  said  Hughes  scornfully.  "'Ulloa!  'Ere 
comes  the  lidy  governess !  "  He  was  peering  into  the 
hall,  the  corners  of  his  mouth  drawn  down  in  the 
most  approved  English  fashion. 

Whatever  may  have  been  Mr.  B ingle's  taste  in  the 
selection  of  rugs  and  furniture,  he  could  be  charged 
with  no  lack  of  it  in  his  choice  of  a  governess  for  the 
young  Bingles.  Miss  Fairweather  was  as  pretty  as 
a  picture.  In  fact,  you  would  go  a  long  way  before 
you  found  a  picture  as  pretty  as  Miss  Fairweather. 
Her  serene  beauty  was  disturbed,  however,  by  a  per 
plexed  frown,  as  she  hurriedly  entered  the  room  and 
paused  just  inside  the  door  for  a-  furtive,  agitated 
glance  down  the  hall. 

"  Diggs,  who  is  in  the  library  with  Mr.  Bingle?  " 
she  inquired,  unconsciously  lowering  her  voice  as  if 
fearing  the  sharpness  of  distant  ears.  It  was  a  very 
pleasing,  musical  voice,  a  fact  which  no  one  appreci 
ated  more  than  Diggs,  who  boasted  of  his  ability  to 
know  a  lady  when  he  heard  one. 

"  A  newspaper  chap,  Miss  Fairweather.     To  inter- 


THOMAS  SINGLETON  BINGLE       108 

view  Mr.  Bingle  about  the — "  (here  he  sighed 
faintly)  — "about  the  Christmas  jollities." 

Miss  Fairweather  sent  another  futile  look  in  the 
direction  of  the  library.  She  was  plainly  distressed 
by  her  failure  to  see  through  the  walls  that  inter 
vened. 

"  What  —  what  name  did  he  give  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say,  Miss.  I  didn't  quite  catch  it  my 
self." 

"  But  you  must  have  announced  him.  He  gave 
you  his  card  or  —  something,  didn't  he?" 

"  No,  Miss.  He  announced  'imself  over  the  tele 
phone  this  afternoon.  It  sounded  like  Blinkers,  or, 
even  more  nearly,  on  his  repeating  it,  like  Rasmus- 
sen.  At  any  rate,  Mr.  Bingle  was  expecting  'im, 
and  came  out  into  the  'all  before  I  had  the  chance  to 
learn  his  name  proper,  so  to  speak,  Miss." 

She  bit  her  lip,  annoyed.  "  Was  it  Flanders, 
Diggs?" 

Mr.  Diggs  reflected.  "  It  was,"  said  he.  "  Now 
that  you  mention  it,  it  was.  Richard,  I  think." 

Miss  Fairweather  lowered  her  eyes  suddenly  and 
grasped  the  back  of  a  chair  as  if  to  steady  herself. 
The  next  instant,  she  had  recovered,  except  that  a 
queer,  hunted  look  had  settled  in  her  eyes. 

"Thank  you,  Diggs.  Please  say  to  Mrs.  Bingle 
that  I  shall  not  be  down  again  this  evening.  I  have 
a  splitting  headache."  She  moved  rapidly  toward 
the  door. 

"  Won't  you  be  here  for  the  reading,  Miss?  " 


104  MR.  BINGLE 

"  No.  I  always  cry  when  I  hear  about  Tiny 
Tim." 

"  Beg  pardon,  Miss,  but  as  this  is  your  first  Christ 
mas  Eve  'ere,  you'll  excuse  me  for  saying  that  the 
entire  'ousehold  is  expected  to  be  present  for  the 
reading.  It  is  a  rule,  Miss.  Even  the  cook  comes 
up." 

"  Thank  you,  Diggs.  Please  give  my  message  to 
Mrs.  Single." 

"  Very  good,  Miss.'5 

"  By  the  way,  is  this  Mr.  Flanders  tall  and  fair, 
with  dark  grey  eyes,  a  rather  broad  mouth  and  just 
the  tiniest  sort  of  a  wave  in  his  hair  —  especially 
above  the  ears?  And  a  small  white  scar  on  his  left 
thumb?" 

Diggs  arose  to  the  demands  of  the  occasion,  as  he 
always  did.  "  Yes,  Miss.  Quite  accurate,  I'm  sure. 
And  a  very  pleasant  voice,  I  may  add  if  you  don't 
mind." 

"  Thank  you,  Diggs,"  said  Miss  Fairweather  for 
the  third  time,  and  then  scurried  across  the  hall  and 
up  the  broad  staircase,  accelerating  her  speed  mate 
rially  as  the  library  door  was  thrown  open  and  lively 
masculine  voices  came  booming  up  from  behind  her. 

"  Sounds  like  a  scene  from  a  novel,"  said  Melissa 
to  Diggs.  "  A  mysterious  stranger  appears  to  dis 
turb  the  peace  and  quiet  of  our  heroine.  She  runs 
off  and  hides  in  her  room,  shivering  with  dread  lest 
this  spectre  out  of  her  dark  past  — -" 

"  Rubbish !  "  said  Mr.  Diggs. 


THOMAS  SINGLETON  BINGLE       105 

"  Sure,"  said  Melissa.  "  That's  what  most  novels 
are.  It's  my  opinion  that  that  young  lady's  been  on 
the  stage,  Mr.  Diggs.  She  acts  just  like  an  actress. 
I've  noticed  that  in  her  from  the  beginning.  And 
the  other  day  she  had  a  letter  from  a  theatrical  man 
ager.  I  saw  the  name  on  the  envelope." 

"  I  dare  say,"  observed  Diggs,  inattentively. 
Watson  appeared  with  the  tall  step-ladder.  "  Be  a 
bit  lively,  Watson.  I  'ear  Mr.  Bingle  in  the  'all. 
Go  and  open  the  door  for  Mr.  Flanders,  Hughes." 

Melissa  happened  to  be  standing  directly  beneath 
the  mistletoe.  Hughes  took  advantage  of  an  op 
portunity  that  has  become  historic.  Then  he  passed 
swiftly  out  of  the  room,  followed  by  Melissa's  aston 
ished  :  "  Oh,  you !  "  Watson  came  nimbly  down  the 
ladder  and  emulated  the  example  of  the  astonishing 
Hughes  quite  before  Melissa  could  recover  herself. 
He  received  a  resounding  smack  in  return,  but  from 
the  young  woman's  open  hand. 

"  Don't  stand  under  it,"  he  grumbled  ruefully, 
66  unless  you  want  to  play  the  game." 

"  I'll  stand  under  it  as  long  as  I  please,"  said 
Melissa  defiantly,  planting  herself  firmly  on  the  spot 
from  which  Watson  had  hastily  removed  the  ladder. 
She  faced  Mr.  Diggs. 

Mr.  Diggs  coloured.  He  cleared  his  throat  and 
then  glared  at  Watson,  who  went  grinning  from  the 
room.  Melissa  was  a  very  pretty,  rosy  young  woman, 
and  her  eyes  flashed  dangerously. 

"  It's   a  fine  old   custom,"   said  Mr.   Diggs  per- 


106  MR.  BINGLE 

suasively.  "  In  merry  England  we  hobserve  it  —  er 
—  you  might  say  religiously,  and  without  fear  of 
future  complications.  It  can  be  done  in  a  dignified 
fashion  if — " 

"  I  don't  want  to  have  it  done  in  a  dignified  fash 
ion,"  protested  Melissa,  lifting  her  round  little  chin 
and  pursing  her  lips  invitingly.  "  Do  it  as  if  you 
liked  it,  not  as  if  you  wanted  to  be  religious." 

Mr.  Diggs  became  human  at  once.  He  laid  aside 
his  austerity,  and  was  no  longer  a  butler  but  a  good- 
looking  chap  of  thirty-five  who  had  the  "  very  Old 
Nick  "  in  him.  It  was  the  sort  of  kiss  that  has  noth 
ing  in  common  with  mistletoe  —  the  sort  that  does 
lead  to  future  complications.  It  proved  something 
to  Melissa,  and  she  uttered  a  little  sigh  of  happiness. 
Mr.  Diggs  kissed  her  because  he  was  in  love  with  her. 

Unfortunately,  Mr.  Bingle  entered  the  room  at  the 
very  instant  of  least  resistance,  and  coughed. 

"  Oh,  I  —  I  beg  your  pardon  I "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Bingle,  genuinely  distressed.  It  is  worthy  of  note 
that  it  was  the  good  little  man  who  apologised,  not 
Diggs. 

As  the  master  was  accompanied  by  the  tall  young 
newspaper  chap,  who  grinned  abominably,  both  Diggs 
and  Melissa  forgot  their  moment  of  bliss  and  fell 
from  a  great  height.  Needless  to  say,  they  were 
speechless. 

"  It's  quite  all  right,  Diggs,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  af 
fecting  a  vast  geniality.  "  What's  a  mistletoe  for 


THOMAS  SINGLETON  BINGLE        107 

if  not  to  —  yes,  yes,  Melissa,  it's  quite  all  right. 
Ahem !  Don't  you  agree  with  me,  Mr.  Flanders  ?  " 

"  Thoroughly,"  said  Mr.  Flanders  with  conviction. 
"  And  what's  more,  Mr.  Bingle,  I  agree  with  Diggs." 

Melissa,  crimson  to  her  throat,  fled.  Mr.  Diggs 
passed  his  hand  over  his  brow,  as  if  to  clear  his  brain, 
and  then  stammered  in  a  voice  that  strove  hard  to 
regain  its  former  impressiveness : 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  —  it  is  all  right,  sir.  Quite  all  right, 
sir.  As  right  as  can  be,  sir." 

"  Right  as  rain,"  proclaimed  Mr.  Bingle,  resorting 
to  a  habit  of  imitation  that  had  marked  his  progress 
during  the  past  few  years  of  observation.  He  had 
heard  the  imposing  Diggs  say  it,  many  times  over. 
It  was  quite  the  proper  thing  to  say,  of  course  — 
apparently  on  any  and  all  occasions  —  but,  for  the 
life  of  him,  Mr.  Bingle  couldn't  grasp  the  signifi 
cance  of  the  simile.  "  And  now,  Diggs,  that  being 
settled,  is  everything  else  all  right?  "  He  surveyed 
the  great,  gaily  bedecked  room  with  an  eye  that  took 
in  the  smallest  detail. 

"  I  think  so,  sir,"  said  Diggs,  slowly  recovering. 
"  You  will  hobserve,  sir,  that  I  have  added  the  neces 
sary  new  chair  —  the  'igh-chair  over  here,  sir,  for 
little  Miss  Him  —  Imogene." 

"  I  see.  We  make  it  a  point,  Mr.  Flanders,  to 
get  a  new  baby  at  least  once  a  year.  The  first  year, 
as  I  explained,  we  had  three.  Two  or  three  years 
ago,  one  came  in  May  and  another  in  September." 


108  MR.  BINGLE 

"  Mental  arithmetic  gives  you  twelve  in  all,"  said 
young  Mr.  Flanders. 

"  Eleven.     We  lost  one  in  1906.     Little  Harriet." 

"  Eleanor,  sir,  begging  your  pardon,"  corrected 
Diggs. 

"  Right.  Thank  you,  Diggs.  Malnutrition.  We 
never  should  have  had  her.  There  goes  the  door-bell, 
Tell  Mrs.  Bingle  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Force  have  ar 
rived,  and  give  Mr.  Force  a  drink  before  she  comes 
down." 

"  Very  good,  sir."     Diggs  retired  with  gravity. 

"  President  of  our  bank,  you  know.  Mr.  Sydney 
Force,"  explained  Mr.  Bingle. 

"  I  know.  The  husband  of  Mrs.  Sydney  Force." 
said  Flanders,  a  twinkle  in  his  grey  eyes. 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Flanders.  I'd  ask  you  to  have  a 
cigar,  but  the  nurses  say  that  smoke  isn't  good  for 
the  children.  Force  always  smokes  here.  I  can't 
tell  him  not  to,  you  see.  He  wouldn't  come  again." 
In  that  bit  of  ingenuousness,  Mr.  Bingle  exposed  the 
family  state  of  mind  in  respect  to  their  aristocratic 
neighbours.  "  Now,  this  is  where  we  have  the  read 
ing.  Permit  me  to  call  your  attention  to  the  way  we 
arrange  the  —  er  —  the  auditorium,  you  might  say. 
That's  where  I  sit  —  over  there.  I'm  glad  you've  de 
cided  to  stay  and  hear  The  Christmas  Carol.  It 
will  do  you  good,  Mr.  Flanders.  You'll  be  a  better 
man  for  it.  There  is  a  train  in  at  nine-fifty-five. 
We'll  not  be  interrupted  here,  so  fire  away.  I'm 
ready  to  be  interviewed." 


THOMAS  SINGLETON  BINGLE       109 

They  seated  themselves  on  the  broad,  luxurious 
couch  that  marked  the  precise  centre  of  the  semi-cir 
cle  and  was  evidently  intended  to  be  the  section  of 
honour.  Mr.  Bingle  leaned  back,  stretched  out  his 
slender  legs,  crossed  his  feet,  and  looked  over  his  tor 
toise-shell  glasses  with  a  fine  assumption  of  tolerance. 
He  was  still  trying,  after  many  years,  to  enjoy  his 
own  importance.  Sad  to  relate,  he  still  expected  to 
wake  up  and  find  that  he  had  but  half  an  hour  in 
which  to  eat  his  breakfast  and  get  across  town  to  the 
bookkeeper's  stool  he  had  occupied  the  day  before. 
He  sometimes  felt  of  his  ears  reminiscently,  for  they 
seemed  in  some  way  to  clearly  connect  him  with  his 
last  waking  hours.  He  never  quite  got  over  listen 
ing  for  the  alarm  clock. 

At  fifty-three,  he  was  no  older  in  appearance  than 
when  he  was  forty-three.  If  anything,  he  seemed 
younger,  for  the  harassed,  care-worn  expression  had 
disappeared,  leaving  him  bland,  benign  of  counten 
ance,  although  the  same  imperishable  wrinkles  lined 
his  pinched  cheeks.  He  was  just  as  careless  about 
his  sparse  hair  as  in  the  days  of  old.  It  was  never 
by  any  chance  sleek  and  orderly.  The  habit  of  run 
ning  his  fingers  through  his  thatch  still  clung  to 
him,  significant  reminder  of  the  perplexities  that  filled 
his  daily  life  over  the  ledgers  and  day-books.  In  all 
other  respects,  however,  he  was  a  re-made  man. 

His  trim  little  frame  was  clothed  in  expensive  gar 
ments  ;  his  patent  leather  pumps  were  the  handiwork 
of  the  most  fashionable  of  bootmakers,  and  quite  un- 


110  MR.  BINGLE 

comfortable;  his  hosiery  was  of  the  finest  silk 
and  his  watch-chain  was  of  platinum;  there  were 
pearl  studs  in  his  unpolished  shirt  front  and  four 
shining  black  buttons  on  his  neat  white  waistcoat; 
his  clawhammer  coat  had  a  velvet  collar  and  fitted 
him  about  the  shoulders  as  if  it  had  been  constructed 
for  a  man  who  possessed  much  more  of  a  figure  than 
he;  and  his  trousers  were  primly  pressed.  Not  the 
same  old  Bingle  outwardly,  you  will  say,  but  you  are 
wrong.  He  was,  and  always  will  be,  like  the  leopard. 
A  certain  briskness  of  manner,  inspired  by  neces 
sity,  had  come  to  him  in  these  days  of  opulence.  His 
position  in  life  made  its  demands,  and  one  of  the 
most  exacting  of  these  denied  him  the  privileges  of 
familiarity.  He  would  have  liked  nothing  better 
than  an  hour  or  two  a  day  of  general  conversation 
with  Mrs.  Bingle  and  Melissa  —  say  while  the  latter 
was  tidying  up  the  library  —  but  that  was  utterly  out 
of  the  question  under  the  new  order  of  things.  He 
was  compelled,  by  virtue  of  exaltation,  to  be  very 
crisp,  succinct,  positive  in  his  treatment  of  the  most 
trivial  matters ;  as  for  conversing  amiably  with  a  sin 
gle  servant  in  his  establishment,  something  told  him 
more  plainly  than  words  that  it  would  not  be  tol 
erated  —  not  for  an  instant.  He  would  have  given 
a  great  deal  to  be  able  to  just  once  shout  a  glad, 
cheerful,  heart-felt  "  good  morning  "  to  Diggs  —  or 
to  any  one  of  the  servants,  for  that  matter  —  but 
custom  and  the  surprising  dignity  of  his  employees 
compelled  him  to  utter  the  greeting  in  a  casual,  bored 


THOMAS  SINGLETON  BINGLE        111 

manner,  quite  as  if  he  did  it  automatically  and  always 
as  if  he  was  on  the  point  of  clearing  his  throat.  He 
sorely  missed  Melissa's  spontaneous,  even  vulgar 
"  Morning,  Mist'  Bingle,"  and  the  rattle  of  cutlery 
and  chinaware.  Melissa  had  acquired  a  fine  but 
watchful  dignity.  She  now  said  "  good  morning, 
sir  "  in  the  hushed,  impersonal  voice  of  the  trained 
servant.  She  never  "joked"  with  him,  as  of  yore, 
although  he  was  by  way  of  knowing  that  she  bubbled 
over  with  fun  in  the  regions  "  below  stairs." 

"  I  haven't  heard  The  Christmas  Carol  since  I 
was  twelve  years  old,"  said  Richard  Flanders.  He 
had  his  note  paper  on  his  knee.  "  What  I  want,  Mr. 
Bingle,  is  a  good  Christmas  story  from  you.  We 
shall  play  it  up,  of  course,  and  —  well,  it  ought  to  be 
good  reading.  Your  own  story,  sir,  from  the  begin 
ning.  All  about  the  Hooper  millions  and  the  chil 
dren  that  just  grew." 

"  Something  stranger  than  fiction,  eh? "  mused 
Mr.  Bingle.  "  But,  my  dear  sir,  it's  such  an  old 
story,  this  yarn  about  me.  The  newspapers  have 
worn  it  to  shreds.  Suppose  we  leave  out  all  refer 
ence  to  the  Hooper  millions.  If  the  public  is  as  tired 
of  those  millions  as  I  am  at  times,  Mr.  Flanders,  we'll 
be  doing  an  act  of  charity  if  we  leave  'em  out.  You 
will  get  your  best  story,  as  you  call  it,  by  observing 
what  happens  here  to-night.  No  one  else  has  ever 
done  it  for  a  newspaper.  You  are  the  first,  my  dear 
sir.  I  am  a  simple  man.  I  don't  like  to  be  in  the 
newspapers.  The  long  and  tiresome  litigation  over 


MR.  BINGLE 

my  poor  uncle's  estate  has  kept  me  more  or  less  in  the 
limelight,  as  you  fellows  would  say,  and  there  have 
been  times  when  I  willingly  would  have  given  up  the 
fight  if  my  lawyers  had  allowed  me  to  do  so.  But 
a  lawyer  is  something  you  can't  get  rid  of,  once  you've 
got  him  —  or  he's  got  you,  strictly  speaking.  My 
lawyers  won't  allow  me  to  quit,  and  I  have  every  rea 
son  to  suspect  that  they  won't  allow  the  other  side 
to  quit.  However,  I  believe  the  matter  is  nearing 
an  end.  The  United  States  Supreme  Court  will  pass 
on  the  issue  just  as  soon  as  the  lawyers  on  both 
sides  reach  a  verdict  —  that  is  to  say,  a  verdict  ac 
knowledging  that  it  won't  pay  them  to  delay  the 
business  any  longer.  The  case  of  Hooper  et  al  vs. 
Bingle  has  been  going  on  like  the  Jarndyce  matter 
for  nearly  nine  years.  We've  licked  them  in  eve^r 
court  and  in  three  separate  hearings,  and  my  lawyers 
are  confident  the  Supreme  Court  will  sustain  the  find 
ings  of  the  lower  courts.  I  am  a  tender-hearted  luna 
tic,  Mr.  Flanders.  I  have  made  an  arrangement 
whereby  the  son  and  two  daughters  of  Joseph  Hooper 
are  to  be  paid  one  million  dollars  each  out  of  the  es 
tate,  just  as  soon  as  I  know  definitely  that  I  have 
beaten  them  in  the  court  of  last  resort.  I  guess  that 
will  surprise  5em,  eh?" 

Flanders'  eyes  glittered.  "Don't  forget,  Mr. 
Bingle,  that  you  are  speaking  to  a  newspaper  man. 
That  last  statement  of  yours  would  make  a  sensa 
tion,  sir." 

Mr.  Bingle  sighed.     "  I  am  sure  you  will  not  take 


THOMAS  SINGLETON  BINGLE       113 

advantage  of  me,  Mr.  Flanders.  I  have  made  a  simi 
lar  statement  to  every  newspaper  man  who  has  in 
terviewed  me,  and  every  one  of  them  has  promised  not 
to  use  it  in  his  paper.  So  far  not  one  of  them  has 
violated  his  promise.  I  am  sure,  sir,  that  you  are 
no  less  honourable  than  the  rest  of  the  boys." 

"  I  have  given  no  promise,  sir." 

"  Nevertheless  I  shall  trust  you  not  to  use  the 
statement,  Mr.  Flanders.  And  now,  let  us  get  back 
to  the  important  part  of  the  interview." 

Flanders  stared  hard  for  a  few  seconds,  unable  to 
comprehend  the  serene  faith  that  this  little  but  ex 
ceedingly  important  man  reposed  in  his  fellow-man. 
He  appeared  to  take  it  for  granted  that  this  star 
tling  piece  of  confidence  would  not  be  betrayed,  no 
matter  to  whom  it  was  extended.  There  was  some 
thing  actually  pathetic  in  his  guilelessness.  Mr. 
Richard  Flanders  admittedly  was  staggered,  and  yet 
somewhere  down  in  his  soul  he  knew  there  was  a  spark 
of  fairness  that  would  become  a  stupendous  obstacle 
in  the  path  of  his  news-getting  avarice.  O.f  course, 
he  was  no  less  honourable  than  the  rest  of  the  boys ! 

"  You  would  be  more  generous  toward  your  cou 
sins,  I  fear,  than  they  could  be  toward  you,"  said  the 
reporter,  twisting  his  pencil  nervously.  After  all,  it 
would  create  a  sensation,  this  remarkable  statement 
of  Mr.  Bingle. 

"  Oh,  they  would  cheerfully  see  me  rot  in  the  poor- 
house,"  assented  Mr.  Bingle  composedly.  "  I  am  not 
deceiving  myself  in  regard  to  Geoffrey  and  Angela 


MR.  BINGLE 

and  Lizzie  —  I  mean  Elizabeth.  You  won't  mention 
what  I  have  just  confided  to  you,  will  you,  Mr. 
Flanders?" 

Flanders  sighed.  He  had  hoped  that  the  petition 
would  not  be  put  into  definite  form. 

"  Certainly  not,  sir  —  if  you  —  er  —  if  you'd 
rather  I  wouldn't,"  he  managed  to  say  with  a  fair 
show  of  alacrity.  "  But,  gee !  "  The  half-muttered 
ejaculation  spoke  volumes  of  regret. 

His  host  smiled  complacently.  It  was  settled,  so 
far  as  he  was  concerned.  Mr.  Flanders  was  to  be 
depended  upon. 

"  Still  snowing  when  you  came  in?  "  he  asked,  quite 
irrelevantly  but  with  interest. 

"Yes,   sir  — hard." 

"  Good !  We'll  have  bob-sledding  on  the  terrace 
for  the  kiddies  to-morrow.  I  suppose  you'd  like  to 
know  how  we  happen  to  have  such  a  large  and  grow 
ing  family.  Well,  it's  all  very  simple.  It  is  our 
practice  to  acquire  a  new  baby  at  least  once  a  year. 
On  occasions  we  have  felt  called  upon  to  make  it 
two,  and  even  three,  but  of  late  it  seems  the  more 
sensible  plan  to  limit  ourselves  to  one.  It  is  our  idea 
to  keep  up  the  practice  until  I  am  seventy-five,  if  God 
permits  me  to  live  to  that  age.  So,  you  see,  we  will 
have  reared  a  family  of  thirty-three  children  by  that 
time,  and  we  will  never  be  without  little  toddlers  and 
prattlers.  I  am  fifty-three  now,  Mr.  Flanders.  We 
are  reasonably  sure  to  have  twenty-two  additions  to 
the  family.  The  pitiful  part  of  getting  old  and  de- 


THOMAS  SINGLETON  BINGLE        115 

crepit  lies  in  the  fact  that  one's  children  grow  up, 
get  married,  leave  home  —  or  die  —  and  that  is  just 
what  we  are  trying  to  guard  against.  On  my 
seventy-fifth  birthday,  there  will  be  a  fine,  healthy 
two-year-old  babe  crying  and  goo-gooing  for  my  es 
pecial  benefit,  and  by  working  backwards  in  your  fig 
uring  you  can  also  credit  us  with  a  three-year-old,  a 
four-year-old,  and  so  on  up  the  line.  Naturally  we 
will  have  lost  a  goodly  number  of  the  first-comers, 
but  we  provide  against  a  deficit,  so  to  speak,  by  this 
little  plan  of  ours.  Some  of  the  girls  may  not  turn 
out  as  well  as  we  expect,  however,  so  there  is  the  pos 
sibility  that  they  may  remain  with  us  to  the  end,  en 
joying  single-blessedness.  The  boys,  of  course,  will 
marry." 

"  It  is  splendid,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said  Flanders  enthu 
siastically.  "  You  are  a  wonder." 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  protested  Mr.  Bingle,  with 
a  deprecatory  gesture.  "  I'm  a  selfish,  conniving 
old  rascal,  that's  what  I  am.  We've  always  wanted 
children,  Mrs.  Bingle  and  I,  and  we  never  —  er  — 
never  seemed  to  have  'em  as  other  people  do,  so  we 
began  to  look  for  children  that  needed  parents  as 
much  as  we  needed  children.  That's  the  whole  thing 
in  a  nut-shell.  We  are  a  bit  high-handed  about  it, 
too.  We  never  have  a  child  until  it  is  past  the  teeth 
ing  age  and  can  walk  a  little  bit  and  talk  a  little 
bit.  So,  you  see,  we  manage  to  have  'em  without  the 
drawbacks.  That's  where  we  are  selfish  and  — " 

"  I  think  you're  quite  sensible  about  it,  Mr.  Bin- 


116  MR.  BINGLE 

gle,"    interrupted    Flanders    politely.     "  They    say 
teething  is  awful." 

"  That's  what  they  say,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  a  slight 
frown  of  regret  on  his  brow.  "  Still,  I  should  have 
preferred  —  ahem !  Yes,  yes  1  Most  annoying,  I'm 
told.  The  nurses  seem  to  know.  We  began  adopt 
ing  our  children  as  soon  as  we  came  into  possession 
of  my  Uncle  Joseph's  money.  Up  to  that  time,  we 
had  hesitated  about  having  other  people's  children 
on  our  hands  and  minds.  Of  course  you'll  under 
stand  that  poverty  could  never  have  stood  in  the  way 
of  our  having  children  of  our  own.  God  simply  did 
not  choose  to  give  them  to  us.  The  old  saying,  *  a 
poor  man  for  children,'  did  not  work  very  well  in  my 
case.  Mrs.  Bingle  is  ten  years  younger  than  I.  She 
is  a  strong,  normal  woman.  I  never  could  under 
stand  why  —  er  —  and  neither  could  she,  for  that 
matter.  As  soon  as  we  came  into  this  fortune,  or, 
more  accurately  speaking,  after  we  had  returned  from 
our  first  trip  to  California  and  a  short  visit  to  Chi 
cago,  we  adopted  Kathleen.  She  was  the  daughter 
of  a  young  woman  who  —  but,  never  mind.  We 
sha'n't  go  into  that.  She  was  about  two  years  old. 
At  once  it  occurred  to  both  of  us  that  it  would  be  a 
fine  idea  to  have  a  boy  to  grow  up  with  her.  So  we 
called  in  the  stork.  He  happened  to  have  a  splendid, 
left-over,  unclaimed  two-year-old  boy  in  stock,  so  we 
took  him.  That  was  Frederick.  Then,  a  friend  of 
mine : —  a  widower  who  worked  as  a  bookkeeper  along 
side  of  me,  chap  named  Jenkins- — died  very  sud- 


THOMAS  SINGLETON  SINGLE       117 

denly,  leaving  a  little  girl  just  under  eighteen  months 
of  age.  That's  how  we  got  Marie  Louise.  And  so  it 
goes,  Mr.  Flanders,  right  up  to  date.  Henrietta  and 
Guinevere  are  almost  twins.  Six  weeks  between  'em. 
They—" 

"  You  mean  in  respect  to  age  or  — " 

"  In  respect  to  their  arrival.  Guinevere  came 
much  sooner  than  was  anticipated,  you  might  say. 
Little  Imogene  came  the  twenty-sixth  of  last  Septem 
ber.  She  cries  a  good  deal.  I  am  inclined  to  think 
she's  getting  her  wisdom  teeth." 

"  Naturally,  Mrs.  Bingle  is  keen  about  the  idea. 
Saves  a  lot  of  bother." 

"  It's  got  to  be  such  a  j  oy  having  children  in  this 
way,  when  we  please,  as  often  as  we  like,  and  being 
able  to  determine  sex  to  our  own  satisfaction,  that  we 
really  look  forward  to  the  arrival  of  a  new  one. 
There's  always  the  pleasure  of  picking  out  blondes 
or  brunettes.  We  try  to  equalise  as  much  as  pos 
sible.  I  am  —  or  was  —  a  blonde,  Mr.  Flanders  — 
quite  a  decided  blonde.  Mrs.  Bingle  is  still  a  bru 
nette." 

"  And  now,  may  I  inquire,  do  they  all  regard  you 
as  their  real  father?" 

"  In  a  measure.  There  are  times  when  they  look 
upon  me  as  a  sort  of  truck-horse.  But  real  fathers 
have  told  me  that  that  is  customary.  They  call  me 
daddy,  if  that's  what  you  mean.  Once  in  a  while  they 
seem  to  recollect  that  there  was  another  man  and 
woman  in  their  lives,  but  not  often.  Generally  peo- 


118  MR.  SINGLE 

pie  who  used  to  beat  them,  I  gather.  I  will  say  this 
for  our  children:  they  were  all  thoroughly  spanked 
before  they  came  to  us.  It  takes  'em  a  long  time  to 
get  used  to  not  being  spanked." 

"  Do  you  never  punish  them  ?  " 

"  Frequently.  If  they're  bad  I  have  them  locked 
in  a  closet.  We've  got  a  very  large  closet  with  win 
dows  and  other  comforts.  Usually  there  are  three 
or  four  of  'em  in  at  the  same  time,  so  they  don't 
mind." 

"  God  will  surely  reward  you,  sir,  for  being  kind 
to  all  these  poor  little  kiddies.  May  I  —  ahem !  — 
May  I  express  the  hope,  sir,  that  some  day  you  may 
me  blessed  with  —  er  — " 

"  No  use,  sir.  Thank  you,  just  the  same.  It  will 
never  happen." 

"  How  many  nurses  have  you  in  your  employ  ?  " 

"  Four  at  present.  We  also  have  a  school-teacher 
—  I  mean,  a  governess.  Excellent  young  woman. 
Teaches  'em  French  and  German.  Curiously  enough 
some  of  the  children  take  to  foreign  languages  quicker 
than  the  others.  Force  says  that  Reginald  is  a  He 
brew.  He  was  supposed  to  be  Irish." 

"  Very  interesting.  All  of  them  strong  and 
healthy?" 

"  Absolutely.  You'd  think  so  if  you  could  see  'em 
fight  occasionally.  They've  had  the  whooping  cough 
and  chicken-pox.  My  doctor  is  the  renowned  Dr. 
Fiddler.  You  know  of  him  ?  " 


THOMAS  SINGLETON  BINGLE        119 

Mr.  Bingle  proceeded  to  dilate  upon  the  activities 
and  achievements  of  Dr.  Fiddler.  There  had  been 
broken  arms  and  prodigious  bruises,  cuts  and  gashes 
of  every  conceivable  character,  and  in  every  instance 
Dr.  Fiddler  had  performed  with  heroic  fidelity.  In 
the  middle  of  a  particularly  enthusiastic  tribute  to 
the  doctor's  skill  as  a  fish-bone  extractor,  Diggs  ap 
peared  in  the  doorway,  coughed  indulgently,  and  then 
advanced. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir.  Mrs.  Bingle  says  the  children 
are  getting  nervous.  They  happear  to  be  — " 

A  series  of  shrill  screeches  descended  the  stairway, 
followed  by  the  sudden  slamming  of  a  distant  door 
way  and  the  instantaneous  suppression  of  bedlam. 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bingle,  spring 
ing  to  his  feet.  "  Dear  me,  it  is  past  the  hour.  For 
give  me,  Mr.  Flanders,  but  —  but  I  really  can't  de 
lay  the  —  er  —  Yes,  yes,  Diggs,  tell  Mrs.  Bingle  that 
we  are  all  ready.  Keep  your  seat,  Mr.  Flanders. 
Don't  mind  me.  I  must  run  upstairs  and  see  if  — 
Quite  so,  Diggs.  They  must  be  nervous.  Where  is 
Miss  Fairweather?  " 

"  She  has  a  'eadache,  sir,  and  says  she  can't  come 
down  — " 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense !  It  will  cure  her  headache. 
Send  for  her,  Diggs.  She's  our  new  governess,  Mr. 
Flan  — " 

46  What  was  the  name?"  demanded  the  reporter, 
pricking  up  his  ears.  He  leaned  forward  with  a  new 


120  MR.  BINGLE 

interest  in  his  lively  grey  eyes.  But  Mr.  B ingle  was 
gone,  his  coat-tails  fairly  whisking  around  the  heavy 
portieres. 

"  Fairweather,  sir,"  supplied  Diggs.  "  Miss 
Hamy  —  I  mean  to  say,  Amy  —  Fairweather." 

"  Good  Lord !  "  fell  from  the  lips  of  Richard  Flan 
ders.  Then  he  proceeded  to  behave  in  the  most  as 
tonishing  manner.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
grasped  the  retreating  Diggs  by  the  arm,  literally 
jerking  that  dignified  individual  back  upon  his  heels. 
His  eyes  were  gleaming.  "  Dark  brown  hair  and  soft 
grey  eyes?  Fairly  tall  and  slend — "  The  sly  grin 
on  the  butler's  face  served  to  check  the  outburst.  He 
abruptly  subdued  his  emotions.  "  Excuse  me  for 
grabbing  you  like  that.  I  —  I  was  just  wondering 
if—" 

Diggs  had  recovered  his  urbanity.  "  She  is  the 
same  Miss  Fairweather,  sir.  I  recognise  her  from 
your  description.  It  may  interest  you  to  hear,  sir, 
that  she  acted  just  as  queerly  as  you  when  I  told  her 
that  you  — " 

"What  did  you  tell  her?"  demanded  Flanders, 
seeing  that  Diggs  hesitated. 

"  That  you  had  a  scar  on  your  thumb,  sir.  By  the 
way,  have  you?  " 

"  I  have !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man.  "  Well,  by 
George!  Will  wonders  never  cease?  Where  is  she? 
You  say  she  isn't  coming  down  —  but,  of  course,  not ! 
She  couldn't  think  of  it,  knowing  that  I  am  here.  I 
say,  will  you  —  will  you  see  that  she  gets  a  message 


THOMAS  SINGLETON  BINGLE 

from  me?  Wait  a  second.  I'll  write  it  now.  Just 
slip  a  note  to  her  —  Great  Scott!  What's  that?" 

The  house  seemed  to  be  clattering  down  about  his 
head. 

"  That,  sir,"  responded  Diggs,  drawing  a  deep 
breath,  "  is  the  charge  of  the  light  brigade.  Hin- 
fants  in  arms,  you  might  say.  There's  no  stopping 
them  now.  'Ere  they  come." 

And  down  the  wide  stairway  streamed  the  shrieking 
vanguard  of  the  Christmas  revellers  —  seven  or  eight 
unrestrained  youngsters  who  had  snatched  liberty 
from  the  nurses  the  instant  Mr.  Bingle  opened  the 
play-room  door  at  the  top  of  the  house.  Down  the 
steps  they  came,  regardless  of  stumbles  and  tumbles 

—  an  avalanche  of  joy. 

Diggs,  from  the  doorway,  raked  the  stairway  and 
its  squirming  horde  with  an  exploring  eye. 

"  She  is  coming,  sir.  Fairly  tall  and  slender,  sir, 
and—" 

"  Good  Lord ! "  gasped  Flanders,  helplessly. 
"  This  is  more  than  I  can  stand.  Diggs,  do  —  do 
men  ever  faint?  " 

There  was  no  reply.  Three  sturdy  youngsters  col 
lided  with  Diggs.  There  was  nothing  he  could  say 

—  with  lucidity. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SEARCHERS    REWARDED 

Miss  FAIRWEATHER  bowed  gravely  to  Flanders  as 
she  passed.  Diggs  observed  her  closely.  He  was 
conscious  of  a  sensation  of  disappointment.  He  had 
counted  on  a  scene  —  an  interesting  scene.  Cir 
cumstances  justified  something  more  thrilling  than  a 
mere  nod  of  the  head,  his  intelligence  argued,  and  it 
was  really  too  bad  to  have  it  turn  out  so  tamely. 

Mr.  Flanders,  looking  a  trifle  dazed  and  bewildered, 
contrived  to  hide  his  emotions  in  a  most  commend 
able  manner.  A  keener  observer  than  Diggs,  how 
ever,  would  have  detected  a  strange  pallor  in  the 
young  woman's  smooth  cheek  and  an  ominous  shadow 
between  her  finely  pencilled  brows.  Even  Diggs 
might  have  observed  these  symptoms  but  for  the  fact 
that  she  kept  her  face  rigidly  averted.  Mr.  Flan 
ders,  from  his  position  near  the  door  —  he  seemed 
to  have  taken  root  there  —  was  favoured  with  no 
more  than  a  glimpse  of  the  tip  of  a  small  ear  and  the 
faintest  suggestion  of  a  cheek's  outline.  His  own 
face,  entirely  visible  to  Diggs,  was  scarlet  —  quite 
frankly  so. 

Four  nurses  appeared,  carrying  infants.  Miss 
Fairweather  assisted  in  the  task  of  placing  the  sleepy 
heads  in  their  high-chairs  and  in  the  subsequent  oc- 

122 


SEARCHERS  REWARDED 

cupation  of  entertaining  them  by  means  of  sundry 
grimaces  and  motions,  keeping  them  awake  —  and 
quiet  —  against  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Bingle,  who,  it 
appears,  had  gone  to  his  room  to  substitute  a  pair  of 
far  from  fashionable  carpet  slippers  for  the  smart 
pumps  he  had  been  wearing.  There  was  a  great  deal 
of  excitement  attending  the  placing  of  the  children, 
but  it  passed  unnoticed  by  Mr.  Flanders.  He  was 
staring  hungrily,  pleadingly  at  the  unfriendly  back 
of  the  new  governess. 

Once  she  gave  him  a  swift,  perhaps  unintentional 
look.  It  was  too  brief  to  be  described  as  significant, 
but  it  served  to  revive  his  interest  in  the  proceed 
ings.  He  sprang  forward  and  offered  his  aid  to  the 
nurses.  If  he  was  clumsy  in  his  attempt  to  jiggle  a 
chair  into  position,  an  explanation  may  be  instantly 
provided.  Miss  Fairweather,  after  a  brief  stare  of 
indecision,  favoured  him  with  an  almost  impercep 
tible  smile.  He  happened  to  be  in  the  act  of  pushing 
a  high-chair  under  the  wriggling  person  of  Imogene. 
That  smile  caused  the  momentary  paralysis  of  his 
whole  being,  with  the  result  that  the  nurse  came  near 
to  depositing  Imogene  on  the  floor.  Every  one  — 
except  Imogene  —  squealed.  Mr.  Flanders  was  re 
minded  of  his  own  existence.  The  arrested  chair 
shot  into  position  and  Imogene  came  down  rather 
soundly  on  the  seat  of  it,  and  then  every  one  giggled 
—  except  Imogene. 

"  Amy !  "  he  whispered,  as  she  turned  away  from 
the  little  group.  He  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant. 


MR.  BINGLE 

She  faced  him,  and  there  was  no  trace  of  the  departed 
smile  in  her  eyes. 

"  How  dare  you  speak  to  me  ?  "  she  said  in  low, 
intense  tones.  Her  eyes  were  cold,  unfriendly. 

"  I've  been  searching  for  you  — "  he  began,  eagerly, 
but  her  disdainful  laugh  cut  him  short. 

"  Go  away,  please.  I  don't  want  to  see  you. 
There  is  nothing  more  to  be  said  between  us.  It's 
all  over,  Dick.  Don't  speak  to  me  again.  I  —  I 
don't  want  the  Bingles  to  know  that  I — " 

"  I  must  see  you,  Amy,"  he  persisted.  "  It  isn't 
all  over.  Now  that  I've  found  you,  I'll  see  that  I 
don't  lose  track  of  you  again.  We  can't  talk  here. 
Where  can  I  see  you  alone  — " 

"  Sh ! "  she  cautioned,  and  he  respected  the  appeal 
in  her  dark,  distressed  eyes.  Mr.  Bingle  had  entered 
the  room,  and  was  greeted  by  a  shout  of  delight  from 
the  children.  The  governess  moved  swiftly  away 
from  the  young  man's  side,  mingling  with  the  nurses 
by  the  fireplace. 

Mr.  Bingle,  hurrying  toward  the  semi-circle  of 
youngsters  was  surprised  by  a  genial  slap  on  the 
back  from  the  visibly  excited  Flanders. 

"  Wonderful !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man,  his  face 
radiant.  "Wonderful!" 

"Aren't  they?"  cried  Mr.  Bingle,  pleased. 

"  I  don't  mean  the  —  Ahem !  They  certainly  are, 
Mr.  Bingle.  I  expect  this  to  be  the  most  beautiful 
Christmas  Eve  in  all  my  life,  sir.  I  shall  never  be 
able  to  thank  you  for  — " 


SEARCHERS  REWARDED  125 

"  Tush,  tush !  Now  come  along.  I  want  to  in 
troduce  you  to  the  young  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
Imogene,  my  dear,  this  is  Mr.  Flanders.  Kathleen, 
shake  hands  with  —  oh,  I  beg  pardon,  I  ought  to  have 
presented  you  to  the  Fairy  Princess.  Miss  Fair- 
weather,  just  a  moment,  please.  I  want  you  to  meet 
my  friend,  Mr.  Flanders,  of  the  Banner.  Well,  well, 
are  we  all  here?  Let  me  see:  one,  two,  three  —  no, 
hold  up  your  hands  as  I  call  the  roll.  Strict  at 
tention,  Mr.  Flanders,  and  you'll  know  which  is  which 
—  I  say,  Flanders,  would  you  mind  looking  this  way, 
please?  Children  first,  on  an  occasion  like  this,  sir. 
Grown-ups  don't  count.  How  is  your  headache, 
Miss  Fairweather?  Now,  speak  up,  children.  An 
swer  to  your  names  —  and  bow  to  Mr.  Flanders, 
while  you're  about  it." 

Planting  himself  in  front  of  the  row  of  eager  chil 
dren,  grasping  Flanders's  arm  with  one  hand,  and 
employing  the  other  in  a  sort  of  counting-off  process, 
he  called  the  roll. 

Kathleen,  exquisitely  dressed  and  radiant  with  joy, 
a  dainty  miss  who  looked  to  be  fourteen  but  was  said 
to  be  twelve,  curtsied  to  Flanders,  who  bowed  low,  his 
roving  eye  unwilling  to  relax  its  interest  in  the  flushed 
face  of  the  governess.  Then  came  Frederick,  a 
sturdy  youngster;  Marie  Louise,  a  solemn-eyed  ten- 
year-old;  Wilberforce,  Reginald,  Henrietta,  Guine 
vere,  Harold,  Rosemary,  Rutherford,  and  last  of  all 
Imogene,  who  whimpered. 

"  There !  "  said  Mr.  Single  proudly.     "  They  did 


126  MR.  BINGLE 

it  very  nicely,  didn't  they,  nurse?"  He  addressed 
the  four  nurses,  who  beamed  as  one.  "  Diggs,  you 
may  summon  the  servants.  I  hear  Mrs.  Bingle  and 
our  guests  in  the  hall  —  or  is  it  the  —  er  —  ahem !  " 

"  The  servants  'ave  congregated  in  the  'all,  sir.  It 
is  them  that  is  whispering,"  said  Diggs,  who  had 
been  scowling  in  the  direction  of  the  door.  "  I  shall 
speak  to  them,  sir.  They  should  be  made  to  under 
stand  — " 

"  Don't  lecture  them  to-night,  Diggs,"  broke  in 
Mr.  Bingle  hastily.  "  Not  on  Christmas  Eve.  Let 
'em  whisper.  Tell  'em  to  come  right  in.  You  see, 
Mr.  Flanders,  we  have  the  servants  in  to  hear  the 
Christmas  Carol.  It's  my  rule.  They  enjoy  it. 
They  —  Ah,  my  dear!  Here  we  are!  This  is  Mr. 
Flanders,  Mary  —  my  wife,  sir.  Come  right  in,  Mrs. 
Force.  Permit  me  to  introduce  my  old  friend 
Flanders  of  the  Banner.  Mr.  Force,  shake  hands 
with  Mr.  Flanders.  Now  —  er  —  ahem !  All  right, 
Diggs  —  call  'em  in." 

The  servants  —  a  horde  of  them  —  stalked  into  the 
room,  each  one  being  formally,  but  perfunctorily  an 
nounced  by  the  butler,  and  each  one  flushing  pain 
fully  in  return  for  the  attention.  There  was  Delia, 
the  cook,  and  Christine,  her  assistant;  Swanson,  the 
furnace  man;  Lockhart,  the  chauffeur,  and  Boyles, 
the  washer ;  Cora,  the  laundress ;  Georgia,  the  scul 
lery-maid;  Edgecomb,  the  gardener,  and  his  four 
helpers  ;  Beulah  and  Emma,  the  upstairs-maids  ;  Bliss, 
the  lodge-keeper,  and  Jane,  his  daughter;  Frank,  the 


SEARCHERS  REWARDED  127 

pony-cart  driver,  and  Joe,  the  coachman;  Matson, 
the  stable-boy ;  Fannie,  the  seamstress ;  Rudolph,  the 
carpenter ;  Miss  McLeish,  the  stenographer  and  tele 
phone  operator;  Throckmorton,  the  dairy-man; 
Scott,  the  stockman;  John  Butts,  the  handy-man; 
Melissa,  Watson  and  Hughes.  The  four  nurses  es 
caped  official  announcement  because  they  had  been 
clever  enough  to  anticipate  the  formality. 

Awkward,  ill-at-ease  in  Sunday  garments,  and  al 
most  sullen  in  their  efforts  to  appear  impressed,  they 
formed  an  amazing  group  as  they  clumsily  ranged 
themselves  in  a  compact  fringe  outside  the  more  fa 
voured  guests  of  the  evening,  who  occupied  what  may 
be  described  as  the  "  orchestra."  They  remained 
standing. 

"  Ever  see  the  play  called  '  The  Admirable  Crich- 
ton'?"  whispered  Mr.  Bingle  to  Flanders  while  the 
servants  were  crowding  into  their  places. 

"  Yes,"  said  Flanders.  "  I  recognise  the  setting, 
but  I  miss  the  grown-up  daughters.  Diggs  is  shorn 
of  his  opportunities,  sir." 

"  That  play  gave  me  an  idea.  It  was  written  by  a 
fellow  named  Barrie.  He  also  wrote  '  Peter  Pan.' 
That  is  the  greatest  play  ever  written." 

"  If  one  believes  in  fairies,  Mr.  Bingle." 

"  Well,  I  do,"  said  Mr.  Bingle. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Flanders,  his  gaze  wandering. 
Miss  Fairweather  was  caught  in  the  act  of  staring  at 
him.  She  lowered  her  eyes. 

Mr.  Force  arbitrarily  had  settled  into  the  chair 


128  MR.  BINGLE 

next  to  little  Kathleen.  His  hard,  impassive  face 
wore  a  softer  expression  than  was  usually  to  be 
observed  there,  and  his  voice,  ordinarily  brusque 
and  domineering,  became  ludicrously  soft  and  whee 
dling. 

"  Come  here,  Kathleen.  Sit  on  my  knee.  I've  — 
I've  got  something  pretty  for  you." 

Kathleen  instantly  lost  her  joyous,  happy  expres 
sion.  Her  eyes  fell  and  her  manner  betrayed  unmis 
takable  aversion  to  the  august  petitioner. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Force,"  she  muttered,  and  was 
guiltily  conscious  of  impoliteness.  Frederick  snick 
ered.  "I  —  I  don't  want  to,"  she  went  on,  spurred 
to  defiance  by  her  brother's  action. 

"  Why  not?  "  demanded  Mr.  Force  coaxingly. 

"  Oh  —  because,"  said  Kathleen,  almost  surlily. 

"  Don't  you  like  me,  Kathleen?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  she,  but  without  enthusiasm. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  what  I've  got  for  you? 
All  for  yourself  alone,  you  know." 

Kathleen  couldn't  resist.  She  betrayed  the  greedi 
ness  that  overcomes  all  feminine  antipathy.  "  What 
is  it?  "  she  asked  guardedly. 

"  Sit  on  my  knee  and  I'll  put  it  around  your  neck," 
said  he,  fumbling  in  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

The  child  flushed  painfully  and  her  eyes  fell  again. 
"  I  don't  want  to,"  she  repeated. 

Force  got  up  from  his  chair,  muttered  something 
under  his  breath,  and  moved  away.  He  almost  col 
lided  with  Bingle. 


SEARCHERS  REWARDED  129 

"  What's  the  matter  with  these  kids  of  yours,  Bin 
gle?"  he  began  irascibly.  "Why  don't  you  bring 
them  up  properly?  Teach  'em  politeness.  Teach 
them  how  to  behave  toward — " 

"  My  dear  Force,  has  —  has  Kathleen  been  rude  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Bingle  in  distress. 

"  You  are  not  to  reprimand  her,"  said  Force  has 
tily.  "  I  wouldn't  have  you  do  that  for  the  world. 
She'd  always  have  it  in  for  me  if  she  knew  that  I  — 
but,  what  nonsense  I'm  talking.  They  are  little  in- 
grates  anyhow  —  all  of  them.  Good  Lord,  Bingle, 
I  can't  understand  what  you  see  in  the  brats." 

"  I  know  you  can't,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  mildly. 
"  That's  just  the  difference  between  us." 

"  There's  only  one  in  the  whole  lot  that  I'd  have 
as  a  gift,"  said  Force,  with  a  sidelong  glance  at 
Kathleen,  who  was  joyous  once  more.  "That  girl 
has  got  some  class  to  her.  Why  is  it,  Bingle,  that 
she  dislikes  me?  All  the  rest  of  'em  are  friendly 
enough  —  too  friendly,  if  anything  —  but  she  won't 
even  look  at  me." 

"  That's  the  woman  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Bingle. 

"  WThat's  the  woman  of  it?"  demanded  Force 
gruffly.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  *  woman  of  it '  ? 
Don't  be  silly,  Bingle.  She's  a  mere  child." 

"  She'll  come  around  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Bin 
gle  gaily.  "  Give  her  time,  old  fellow,  give  her 
time." 

"  Good  heavens,  what  a  racket  they're  making," 
growled  Force.  "  Have  you  no  control  over  them, 


130  MR.  BINGLE 

Single?  I'd  send  the  whole  lot  of  them  to  bed,  hang 
me  if  I  wouldn't." 

"On  Christmas  Eve?  Oh,  no,  you  wouldn't,  old 
—  Where  are  you  going?  " 

"  I'm  going  into  the  library  to  smoke,"  said  Force. 
"  I  can't  stand  the  row." 

"  Now,  don't  do  that,"  pleaded  Mr.  Bingle,  grasp 
ing  his  arm.  "  Wait  a  minute.  I'll  speak  to  Kathie. 
She  — " 

"  Do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  snapped  Force.  "  She 
doesn't  like  me,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it.  I've 
taken  a  fancy  to  the  child,  Bingle  —  I  never  liked  a 
kid  before  in  all  my  life.  I've  got  a  little  present 
for  her,  but  —  oh,  well,  never  mind.  I'll  put  it  in  her 
stocking,  if  you'll  tell  me  which  is  hers.  But  I  say, 
why  doesn't  she  like  me,  Bingle  ?  "  He  was  staring 
at  the  back  of  Kathleen's  brown,  curly  head,  and  his 
eyes  were  filled  with  perplexity. 

"Bashful  —  just  bashful,"  explained  Mr.  Bingle. 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  "  demanded  the  other 
eagerly. 

"Sure,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  delighted.  "All  girls 
go  through  that  stage  of  development.  I  don't  mind 
saying  to  you,  Force,  she's  my  favourite.  It's  a 
dreadful  thing  to  say,  but  I'd  rather  lose  any  one  of 
them  —  or  all  of  them  —  than  to  lose  Kathie.  I  love 
her  with  all  my  heart." 

Flanders  was  shaking  hands  with  the  small  boys, 
Mrs.  Bingle  looking  on  with  placid  approval. 

"  What's  your  name,  my  little  man?  " 


SEARCHERS  REWARDED  131 

"  Abraham." 

"  Ahem ! "  coughed  Mrs.  Bingle,  with  a  violent 
start. 

"  Reginald,  sir,"  gasped  he  whose  memory  was  still 
faithful  when  under  the  pressure  of  excitement. 

"  I  see,"  said  Flanders,  smiling  down  into  Mrs. 
Bingle's  embarrassed  eyes.  "  Lapsus  linguae,  Mrs. 
Bingle." 

"  My  French  is  very  — "  began  Mrs.  Bingle  plain 
tively. 

"Do  you  like  Santa  Glaus,  Reginald?"  inter 
rupted  Flanders. 

"  I  like  him  better'n  I  do  Dickens,"  confessed  Reg 
inald  with  considerable  positiveness.  "  Say,  what's 
your  name?  " 

"  My  name  is  Dick." 

"Gee!  Deadwood  Dick,  the  road-agent?  The 
feller  Melissa  is  always  telling  us  about?  Hey,  kids, 
here's  — " 

"  Sh ! "  hissed  Flanders,  clapping  his  hand  over 
Master  Reginald's  mouth.  "  Never  mind  that !  " 

"  Did  I  understand  Mr.  Bingle  to  say,  Mr.  Flin 
ders,  that  you  report  for  the  Banner?  "  It  was  Mrs. 
Force  who  spoke.  She  was  inspecting  the  young  man 
through  a  bejewelled  lorgnette,  held  at  an  angle  which 
was  meant  to  establish  beyond  dispute  the  fact  that 
she  was  looking  down  upon  him  from  a  superior 
height.  She  was  a  tall  woman  and  she  had  been  mar 
ried  to  Mr.  Force  for  twelve  long  years.  Looking 
down  on  him  had  become  such  a  habit  that  it  was  quite 


MR.  SINGLE 

impossible  for  her  to  look  up  to  any  one  of  his  sex. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Force,  the  Banner." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  who  put  that  disgusting  item 
in  the  paper  about  my  little  gathering  last  week?  " 
She  regarded  him  with  severity. 

"  Gathering?  Oh,  I  daresay  it  was  one  of  the 
hospital  reporters,  Mrs.  Force,"  said  Flanders 
suavely.  She  spent  the  rest  of  the  evening  in  cogita 
tion. 

Three  words  describe  Mrs.  Force.  She  detested 
children. 

Joe,  the  coachman,  and  Watson  were  waiting  for 
an  opportunity  to  speak  to  Mr.  Bingle.  They  ap 
peared  to  be  crowding  each  other. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  Mr.  Bingle,"  began  Joe,  hurriedly, 
as  the  master  turned  in  response  to  Watson's  cough. 

"  What  is  it,  Joseph?  " 

Watson  succeeded  in  speaking  first.  "  If  you 
please,  sir,  my  grandmother  is  dying  in  the  city.  I've 
just  been  sent  for,  sir.  I  think  it  is  possible  for  me 
to  catch  the  eight-forty  — " 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,"  broke  in  Joe.  "  I've  just 
heard  that  my  sister  is  expecting  a  baby  to-night, 
and  I  thought  I'd  speak  to  you  about  getting 
off—" 

"  Just  a  moment,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  blinking  rap 
idly.  "  Wasn't  your  grandmother  dying  last  Christ 
mas  Eve,  Watson?" 

"  No,  sir.     It  was  Hughes's  grandmother." 

"Did  she  die?" 


SEARCHERS  REWARDED  133 

"  She  did,  sir,"  said  Watson,  with  a  pleased  smile. 
"  Hughes  can  attend  to  my  — " 

"And  your  sister,  Joe:  didn't  you  get  off  last 
month  for  three  days  to  attend  her  wedding?  Your 
only  sister,  I  think  you  said." 

"  Yes,  sir.  Poor  girl,"  said  the  coachman,  with 
out  shame  or  conscience. 

Mr.  Bingle  looked  hard  at  the  two  men.  They 
coloured.  "  Very  well.  You  may  go,  both  of  you, 
but  don't  let  it  happen  again.  I  am  sorry  that  you 
will  not  be  here  to  receive  your  Christmas  presents. 
I  shall  distribute  the  envelopes  to-night.  By  the 
way,  the  grandmother  season  ends  about  the  middle 
of  October,  Watson.  Good  night,  and  —  a  Merry 
Christmas  to  both  of  you." 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  stammered  Watson,  sheepishly. 
"  I'm  ashamed  of  myself,  sir.  It  shan't  'appen  again, 
not  so  long  as  I'm  in  your  service."  The  coachman 
shuffled  his  left  foot  uneasily  and  appeared  to  find 
something  of  great  interest  in  the  rug  on  which  he 
was  standing.  At  any  rate,  he  scrutinised  it  very 
intently.  Mr.  Bingle  smiled  as  he  turned  away. 

Miss  Fairweather  suddenly  leaned  over  and  whis 
pered  into  the  ear  of  young  Wilberforce.  He  paid 
no  attention  to  her,  so  she  shook  him  gently  by  the 
arm.  A  moment  later,  obeying  an  unspoken  com 
mand,  he  sheepishly  removed  two  large  wads  of  cot 
ton  from  his  ears. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  hear  about  Old  Scrooge  and 
Tiny  Tim?  "  she  whispered. 


MR.  BINGLE 

"  I  wish  I'd  thought  of  doing  that,"  lamented  Mr. 
Force  audibly.  He  had  witnessed  the  little  incident. 

"  I'd  sooner  hear  about  Melissa's  pirates  and  sea- 
cooks,"  whispered  Wilberforce  shrilly. 

"  Order,  please  1 "  commanded  Mr.  Bingle,  taking 
his  place  at  the  reading-table.  "  Please  be  seated, 
Mr.  Force.  Hi!  Look  out!  Not  on  top  of  Rose 
mary." 

"  Good  heavens !  I  might  have  squashed  her  — 
or  him.  What  are  you?  A  boy  or  a  girl?  " 

"  I'm  a  woming,"  piped  up  Rosemary  from  the 
depths  of  the  biggest  chair  in  the  room. 

Mr.  Bingle  cleared  his  throat  and  adjusted  his 
spectacles.  Then  he  benignly  surveyed  the  audience. 
The  row  of  servants  bobbed  their  heads  and  shifted 
from  one  foot  to  the  other. 

"  Friends  all,"  began  the  master,  "  I  give  you 
greeting.  On  this  glad  evening  no  line  is  drawn  be 
tween  master  and  man,  no  —  What  is  it,  Delia  ?  " 

The  cook  had  stepped  forward.  "  Excuse  me  for 
interrupting  sor,  but  for  sivin  years  I've  stud  through 
the  Christmas  Carol,  from  ind  to  ind,  and  I'm  sivin 
years  older  than  whin  I  began.  I'm  no  longer  young 
and  hearty.  I'm — " 

"Well,  why  do  you  hesitate?  Go  on.  Do  you 
mean  to  say  you  don't  want  to  hear  it  again?  " 

"  God  knows,  sor,  I'm  willing  to  give  up  wan  evenin' 
to  society.  We  all  are,  for  that  matter.  But  it 
takes  an  hour  an'  a  half  to  read  the  blissed  story. 
If  we  could  only  sit  down  during  the  recital,  sor,  it 


SEARCHERS  REWARDED  135 

—  it  wouldn't  be  so  bad.     But  as  it  is,  sor,  we  have 
to  stand  and  only  our  legs  and  feet  can  go  to  sleep. 
If—" 

"  I  see ! "  cried  Mr.  Bingle.  "  You  put  me  to 
shame,  Delia.  I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  light. 
You  must  have  chairs.  We  will  delay  the  reading 
while  you  go  to  the  dining-room  and — " 

"  It's  all  right,  sor.  We've  got  the  dining-room 
chairs  in  the  hall.  It  was  me  as  thought  of  thim,  sor. 
Go  wan  wid  yez  now,  lads,  and  rush  thim  in." 

Mrs.  Bingle  took  advantage  of  this  unusual  de 
lay  —  or  respite  —  and  explained  to  Mrs.  Force  that 
she  would  never  go  back  to  Madame  Marie  for  another 
gown.  All  one  had  to  do  was  to  look  at  the  dress 
she  was  wearing  to-night  for  the  first  time.  "  It  has 
just  come  and  it  cost  —  well,  you  know  what  a  gown 
like  that  would  cost  at  Marie's !  And  just  look  at 
it !  "  Mrs.  Force  did  look  at  it  —  commiseratingly 

—  and  said  she  would  be  pleased  to  take  Mrs.  Bingle 
in  to  see  her  dressmaker,  and  so  on  and  so  forth. 
Mrs.  Bingle  expressed  some  doubt  as  to  any  modiste's 
ability  to  make  her  look  like  Mrs.  Force  and  Mrs. 
Force  pooh-poohed  graciously. 

Mr.  Force  bit  off  the  end  of  a  cigar  and  glumly 
watched  the  revivified  servants  arranging  the  chairs. 
Occasionally  he  sent  a  puzzled  glance  at  little  Kath 
leen. 

Mr.  Bingle  rubbed  his  spectacles,  while  Mr.  Flan 
ders  confined  his  attention  solely  to  the  slim,  graceful 
head  and  neck  of  the  new  governess.  He  wore  the 


136  MR.  BINGLE 

look  of  one  who  has  much  to  do  to  contain  himself 
in  patience.  As  for  Miss  Fairweather,  a  warm  glow 
had  settled  upon  her  fair  cheek  and  her  eyes  were 
bright. 

"  I  always  cry  when  any  one  reads  aloud  about 
Tiny  Tim,"  she  said  to  Mr.  Force,  who,  for  obvious 
reasons,  failed  to  hear  her  above  the  chattering  of 
the  children.  But  Flanders  heard. 

"  Tiny  Tim  always  makes  me  cry  too,"  he  said, 
very  distinctly.  He  was  rewarded  by  a  slightly  in 
creased  colour  in  the  young  lady's  cheek. 

"  I  cry  my  eyes  out  over  Tiny  Tim,"  Miss  Quin- 
lan  was  saying  to  Miss  Stokes,  and  at  the  same  in 
stant  Miss  Brown  was  telling  Miss  Wright  that  Tiny 
Tim  was  always  good  for  a  bucketful,  so  far  as  she 
was  concerned. 

Imogene  was  sound  asleep,  and  there  were  faint 
sobs  in  her  breathing. 

"  Before  we  begin,  Swanson,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  ad 
dressing  the  furnace-man,  "  you  might  put  a  couple 
of  fresh  Yule  logs  on  the  fire.  Pick  out  good,  big 
ones  while  you're  about  it." 

"Will  dose  har  fance-post  do,  Mast'  Bingle?" 
whispered  Swanson  hoarsely,  as  he  held  up  a  chunk 
of  firewood  for  approval. 

The  fire  was  crackling  merrily  by  the  time  the  serv 
ants  were  seated  and  Diggs  had  turned  out  the  ceil 
ing  and  wall  lights  from  the  switch,  leaving  the  big 
room  in  semi-darkness.  The  blazing  logs  sent  a 
bright,  flickering  glow  into  the  faces  of  Mr.  Bingle's 


SEARCHERS  REWARDED  137 

auditors.  He  bowed  gravely  and  took  up  the  cher 
ished  well-worn  book. 

"  My  dear  friends,  we  have  once  more  reached  a 
milestone  in  the  march  of  Christendom.  As  you 
know,  children,  it  comes  but  once  a  year,  like  New 
Year's  and  Fourth  of  July." 

"  Hear !  Hear !  "  volunteered  three  or  four  of  the 
men-servants  diffidently. 

"  We  are  all  servants  of  the  Lord  whose  anniver 
sary  we  celebrate.  We  gather  here  about  a  warm 
fireside,  with  the  historic  yule  log  blazing  —  er  — 
figuratively  speaking,  of  course.  These  logs,  natur 
ally,  are  not  historic.  They  —  er  —  ahem !  Ahem !  " 
He  floundered.  "  Still,  we  gather  about  them,  just 
the  same,  warm  and  snug  and  full  of  good  cheer. 
Outside,  the  night  is  cold  and  blustery.  The  wind 
howls  around  the  — " 

The  door-bell  jangled  in  the  distance.  Mr.  Sin 
gle  hesitated  for  an  instant  and  then  went  on : 

"  Howls  around  the  corners  with  the  fury  of  the 
wintry  —  ahem !  —  blast.  And  it  snows.  *  It 
snows,  cries  the  schoolboy ! '  You  remember  the 
verses,  children.  You  —  See  who's  there,  Diggs. 
Perhaps  it  is  some  neighbour  come  to  wish  us  —  and, 
Diggs,  no  matter  who  it  is,  ask  him  —  or  them  —  to 
come  right  in  here.  I'll  - —  I'll  wait  a  few  minutes. 
Hurry  along,  please."  Resuming  his  address  he 
beamed  upon  the  row  of  wriggling  children.  "  We 
have  before  us  eleven  little  ladies  and  gentlemen,  all 
eager  for  the  Christmas  dawn.  See  the  stockings? 


138  MR.  BINGLE 

To-morrow  morning  you  will  find  that  Santy  has 
filled  them  to  the  top.  Next  year  Santy  will  come 
provided  with  gifts  for  twelve,  an  even  dozen.  How 
many  are  eleven  and  one,  Reginald?  Speak  up. 
Eleven  and  one.  Good !  That's  right,  my  lad.  The 
year  after  he  will  bring  gifts  for  fourteen.  We  shall 
avoid  the  unlucky  number  thirteen.  Remember,  chil 
dren,  that  next  Christmas  you  are  to  have  a  little 
brother.  You  — " 

"  I  want  a  sister,"  shouted  Wilberforce. 

"  Sh !  "  said  four  nurses  at  once. 

"  As  for  you,  my  faithful  servitors,  it  will  not  be 
necessary  for  you  to  hang  up  your  little  stockings. 
Santy  will  find  a  way  to  —  What  is  it,  Diggs  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  may  I  speak  with  you  for  a 
moment?  "  said  Diggs  mysteriously,  from  the  door 
way.  He  appeared  to  be  under  the  strain  of  a  not 
inconsiderable  excitement. 

Mr.  Bingle  hesitated.  "  If  it's  your  grandmother 
who  is  ill,  Diggs,  I'm  afraid — " 

"  It's  a  man,  sir,  who  says  he  must  see  you  at 
once,"  said  Diggs,  lowering  his  voice  and  sending  a 
cautious  glance  over  his  shoulder. 

"  If  he  is  seeking  food  or  shelter,  do  not  turn  him 
away.  Give  freely  from  my  purse  and  larder.  It  is 
Christmas  Eve.  We  — " 

"  I'll  step  out  and  see  him,  Bingle,"  volunteered 
Mr.  Force,  with  some  alacrity.  "  Go  ahead  with  the 
reading." 


SEARCHERS  REWARDED  139 

"  He  says  he  must  see  you,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said 
Diggs.  "  He  isn't  after  halms,  sir." 

"  Ask  him  to  come  in  and  hear  the  story.  I've  no 
doubt  he  would  be  benefitted  — " 

"  Go  and  see  what  he  wants,  Thomas,"  said  Mrs. 
Bingle.  "  It  may  be  important.  I  am  sure  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Force  will  not  mind  the  delay.  Will  you?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Force  resignedly. 

"I  shan't  mind,  if  the  rest  don't,"  added  Mr. 
Force,  turning  an  ironic  eye  upon  the  row  of  serv 
ants. 

"Well,  I'll  just  step  out  and  see  what  it's  all 
about,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  reluctantly. 

"  Better  see  that  the  chap  isn't  a  bomb-thrower, 
come  to  demand  money  of  you,  Bingle,"  said  Force. 
Mr.  Bingle  waved  his  hand  airily  as  he  threaded  his 
way  among  the  chairs.  "  Does  he  look  like  a  black- 
hander,  Diggs  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Diggs.  Then  he  let  the  truth 
slip  out.  "  He  says  he  is  from  a  detective  agency, 
but  I  couldn't  catch  the  name  of  it." 

Mr.  Bingle  halted.     "  Detective  agency,  Diggs  ?  " 

"  So  he  said,  sir." 

Flanders  arose.  "  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  have  me 
go  with  you,  Mr.  Bingle.  I  know  most  of  these  fel 
lows.  If  I  can  be  of  any  assistance  — " 

"  Thank  you,  no,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  nervously.  I 
—  I  think  I'd  better  see  him  alone.  Now,  Mary, 
don't  look  frightened.  I  haven't  the  remotest  idea 


140  MR.  BINGLE 

what  he  wants,  but  as  I  haven't  been  up  to  anything 
—  ahem !  Keep  your  seat,  Frederick !  " 

"  I  want  to  see  a  detective,"  pleaded  Frederick. 
"  Is  he  disguised,  Diggs  ?  Has  he  got  on  false  whis 
kers  ?  Please,  daddy  — " 

"  Maybe  it's  old  Santy,"  cried  Wilberforce  in  a 
voice  that  thrilled. 

Mr.  Bingle  left  a  pleasant  atmosphere  of  excite 
ment  behind  him  when  he  disappeared  between  the 
portieres.  At  once  the  company  broke  into  eager, 
speculative  whispers  that  soon  grew  to  a  perfect 
storm  of  shrill  inquiry.  Every  one  was  guessing,  and 
every  one  was  guessing  as  loudly  as  possible  in  order 
to  be  heard  above  the  clamour.  It  might  have  been 
observed  that  at  least  three  or  four  of  the  servants 
shot  furtive  glances  in  the  direction  of  the  hall,  and 
appeared  to  be  anxious  and  uncomfortable. 

While  the  excitement  was  at  its  height,  Flanders 
deliberately  planted  himself  at  Miss  Fairweather's  el 
bow.  She  looked  up  into  his  face.  Every  vestige  of 
colour  had  left  her  own.  Her  eyes  were  wide  with 
alarm. 

"  Come  with  me,  Amy,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone.  "  I 
must  have  a  word  with  you.  Make  believe  that  you 
are  showing  me  the  —  the  pictures.  We  can  talk 
safely  in  that  corner  over  there." 

She  arose  without  a  word  and  followed  him  to  a 
far  corner  of  the  room,  where  they  would  be  quite  free 
from  interruption. 

"  Oh,    Dick ! "    she   murmured,   in   great   distress. 


SEARCHERS  REWARDED  141 

"Do  you  know  anything?     Who  is  this  detective? 
Has  he  come  to  — " 

"  Sh !  Why,  you're  actually  shivering !  Here,  sit 
down  in  the  window  seat  —  behind  the  curtain,  dear 
est.  What  have  you  to  be  afraid  of?  You've  done 
no  wrong." 

She  sank  down  on  the  window  seat.  The  thick 
lace  curtain  shielded  her  agitated  face  from  the  view 
of  all  inquiring  eyes  save  those  of  the  tall,  eager 
young  man  who  sat  down  beside  her. 

"  They  don't  know  that  I  was  on  the  stage,  Dick. 
They  wouldn't  have  me  here  if  they  knew  that  I've 
been  an  actress.  I —  Oh,  I  hope — " 

"  Brace  up,  darling !  This  detective  isn't  inter 
ested  in  you.  What  motive  could  he  have  in  looking 
you  up?  Bingle  is  in  the  dark,  so  it's  evident  he 
hasn't  hired  any  one  to  investigate  your  past.  For 
get  it !  That  isn't  what  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about. 
I've  been  half -crazy,  dear,  for  the  past  eight  months. 
Why  did  you  run  away  without  giving  me  a  chance  to 
square  myself  after  that  miserable  night?  Don't  get 
up!  I've  found  you  and  I'm  determined  to  have  it 
out  with  you,  Amy.  You've  just  got  to  hear  what 
I  have  to  say."  His  hand  was  upon  her  arm,  a  firm 
restraining  grasp  that  checked  her  attempt  to  escape. 
Undismayed  by  the  look  of  scorn  that  leaped  into  her 
eyes,  he  leaned  closer  and  spoke  in  quick  agitated 
whispers. 

Fully  half  an  hour  elapsed  before  Mr.  Bingle  re 
turned  to  the  room.  His  face  was  noticeably  grey 


il42  MR.  BINGLE 

and  pinched,  and  all  of  the  ebullience  of  spirit  had  dis 
appeared.  His  wife  eyed  him  anxiously,  apprehen 
sively.  Slowly,  almost  with  an  effort,  he  made  his 
way  to  the  reading-table,  purposely  avoiding  the  gaze 
of  the  inquiring  assemblage.  His  hand  shook  per 
ceptibly  as  he  took  up  the  book  and  cleared  his  throat 
—  this  time  feebly  and  without  the  usual  authority,  it 
might  have  been  observed. 

"Anything  wrong,  Bingle?"  inquired  Force,  re 
garding  him  curiously. 

"  Nothing,  nothing  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  vainly 
affecting  a  smile  that  was  meant  to  put  every  one  at 
ease.  "  No  crime  has  been  committed,  so  don't  be 
nervous,  any  of  you.  Just  a  little  private  matter 
of  —  of  " —  His  gaze  went  swiftly  to  the  eager,  up 
lifted  face  of  little  Kathleen,  and  he  never  completed 
the  sentence.  As  he  turned  his  face  away,  ostensibly 
to  find  his  place  in  the  book,  his  lower  lip  trembled, 
and  a  mist  came  over  his  eyes. 

The  dramatic  enthusiasm  with  which  he  was  wont 
to  read  the  Dickens  story  was  sadly  lacking.  He 
read  lifelessly,  uncertainly,  and  at  times  almost  in- 
audibly.  There  was  a  queer  huskiness  in  his  voice 
that  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  clear  his  throat  fre 
quently. 

Under  ordinary  conditions,  he  would  have  observed 
the  singular  aloofness  of  Miss  Fairweather  and  the 
reporter  who  was  there  by  virtue  of  an  assignment. 
They  retained  their  somewhat  sequestered  position  in 
the  window  seat,  effectually  screened  by  the  curtains, 


Amy  Fail-weather  and  Flanders 


SEARCHERS  REWARDED 

and  whispered  softly  to  each  other,  utterly  oblivious 
to  the  monotonous  drone  of  the  reader,  quite  in  a  lit 
tle  world  of  their  own. 

Flanders  was  pleading  earnestly  with  the  rigid- 
faced  girl.  Her  cautious,  infrequent  responses  were 
not  of  an  encouraging  nature,  that  was  plain  to  be 
seen,  but  he  too  was  obdurate.  He  held  one  of  her 
slim  hands  in  a  grip  that  could  not  be  broken,  as  she 
had  discovered  to  her  dismay.  Mr.  Bingle  read  on, 
ignorant  of  the  little  drama  that  went  on  under  his 
very  nose,  so  to  speak,  and  those  of  his  auditors  who 
were  not  nodding  their  heads  in  frank  drowsiness, 
were  so  completely  wrapped  up  in  extraneous 
thoughts  concerning  the  visit  of  the  detective  that 
they  had  eyes  for  no  one  except  the  person  who  could 
explain  the  mystery. 

Mr.  Bingle's  voice  began  to  quaver  much  earlier  m 
the  story  than  usual.  He  was  always  moved  to  tears, 
but  as  a  rule  he  was  able  to  suppress  them  until  along 
toward  the  end  of  the  story.  But  now  he  was  in 
distress  from  the  beginning.  He  choked  up  com 
pletely,  in  a  most  uncalled-for  manner  and  at  sin 
gularly  unexpected  places.  He  managed  to  struggle 
through  the  first  twenty  or  thirty  pages,  and  then, 
seeing  for  himself  that  he  was  nearing  the  first  of  the 
weepy  places  and  realising  that  he  was  sure  to  burst 
into  tears  if  he  continued,  he  deliberately  closed  the 
book,  keeping  his  forefinger  between  the  leaves,  and 
announced  in  a  strained  voice  that  he  would  skip  over 
to  the  final  chapter  if  the  audience  did  not  object. 


MR.  BINGLE 

He  gave  no  excuse.  It  is  doubtful,  however,  if  he 
was  gratified  by  the  profound  sigh  of  relief  that  went 
up  from  the  group  of  listeners. 

At  last,  he  came  to  the  end  of  the  story.  He  had 
no  voice  at  all  for  the  concluding  paragraphs :  a 
hoarse,  grotesque  whisper,  that  was  all.  When  the 
servants  had  departed  and  the  children  were  scam 
pering  off  to  bed,  thrilled  by  promises  of  the  morrow, 
Mr.  Bingle's  arm  stole  about  his  wife's  shoulders  and 
she  was  drawn  suddenly,  even  violently  close  to  his 
side.  He  avoided  her  puzzled,  worried  gaze  and 
resolutely  addressed  himself  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Force 
and  Mr.  Flanders.  Miss  Fairweather  had  disap 
peared. 

"  That  man  was  a  detective,"  said  he,  without  pre 
amble.  "  His  agency  was  employed  nearly  a  year 
ago  to  discover  the  whereabouts  of  a  certain  child, 
whose  father,  repenting  a  wrong  perpetrated  years 
ago,  desires  to  do  the  right  thing  by  his  luckless  off 
spring.  After  all  these  months,  this  detective  has  lo 
cated  the  little  girl.  She  is  in  this  house.  She  is 
my  favourite  —  and  yours,  Mary,  God  help  us." 

"Kathleen?  "  whispered  Mrs.  Bingle  dully. 

"  Kathleen  ? "  repeated  Sydney  Force,  staring 
blankly  at  the  little  man. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  and  sat  down  suddenly  in 
a  big  arm  chair,  burying  his  face  in  his  hands. 

No  one  spoke  for  many  minutes.  Flanders  had  the 
grace  to  turn  away  from  the  group.  He  was  an  un 
usual  type  of  newspaper  reporter.  Here  was  some- 


SEARCHERS  REWARDED  145 

thing  that  would  make  a  splendid  "  story,"  and  yet 
he  was  fine  enough  to  turn  his  back  upon  the  oppor 
tunity  that  lay  open  to  him. 

Mr.  Force's  hands  were  gripping  the  back  of  a 
chair  so  rigidly  that  the  knuckles  were  white  and 
gleaming. 

"  For  a  year,  did  you  say,  Bingle  ?  "  he  questioned, 
steadying  his  voice  with  an  effort. 

"  Almost  a  year,"  gulped  the  little  man,  looking  up 
through  streaming  eyes.  "  Her  mother  died  when 
Kathie  was  about  a  year  old.  The  father  never  saw 
his  child.  He  had  deceived  the  woman.  He  cast  her 
off  and  —  married  another,  I  take  it,  although  I  am  a 
bit  hazy.  I  was  so  upset  that  I  —  I  scarcely  remem 
ber  what  the  man  said.  Now  the  —  the  father  wants 
to  find  his  child.  He  —  he  wants  to  give  her  a  home 
—  Oh,  Lordy,  Lordy !  I  can't  bear  the  thought  of 
it.  Sh !  Don't  cry,  Mary.  Maybe  he'll  let  us  keep 
her.  He  is  married.  Perhaps  he  can't  afford  to 
acknowledge  her  as  his  child  under  the  circum 
stances.  I  —  I  put  it  up  to  the  detective.  He 
actually  grinned  in  my  face  and  said  he  was  quite 
positive  his  client  would  be  as  sensible  as  most  men 
have  to  be  in  similar  straits." 

"  Are  you  sure  that  Kathleen  is  the  one  he  is  look 
ing  for,  Mr.  Bingle?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Force.  "  They 
sometimes  follow  false  clues,  or  something  of  the  sort. 
I  once  heard  of  a  detective  who  — " 

"  No  such  luck,"  groaned  Mr.  Bingle.  "  He  has 
Kathie's  history  from  the  day  she  was  born.  There 


MR.  BINGLE 

—  there  isn't  any  chance  for  a  mistake.  She  is  the 
one.  Our  eldest,  our  loveliest  —  Oh,  Mary  1 " 

Force  shot  an  unmistakable  look  of  alarm  at  the 
newspaper  man  who  stood  in  the  doorway,  staring 
out  into  the  hall. 

"  Do  you  know  the  mother's  name,  Bingle  ?  "  he 
inquired.  His  voice  sounded  so  strange  and  unnat 
ural  that  his  wife  glanced  at  him  sharply. 

66  Yes.  I  know  her  real  name.  On  the  records  at 
the  hospital  she  was  known  as  Mrs.  Hinman.  But, 
you  see,  she  wasn't  married.  Her  name  was  Glenn." 

Sydney  Force's  face  was  bloodless. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    AFFAIRS    OF    AMY   AND    DICK 

THE  affairs  of  Amy  Fairweather  and  Richard  Flan 
ders  require  explanation. 

When  two  good-looking  young  people  meet  as  these 
two  met,  and  betray  such  surprising  emotion,  it  goes 
without  saying  that  at  least  one  episode  in  their  j  oint 
history  deserves  the  undivided  attention  of  the  on 
looker,  who,  in  this  case,  happens  to  be  you,  kind 
reader.  It  must  be  perfectly  clear  to  you  that  Miss 
Fairweather  and  Mr.  Flanders  were,  at  one  time  in 
their  lives,  more  than  moderately  interested  in  each 
other.  That  part  of  their  story  does  not  require 
elucidation.  Indeed,  only  an  intelligence  of  the  most 
extraordinary  denseness  would  demand  the  bald,  mat 
ter-of-fact  declaration  that  they  had  been  in  love 
with  each  other.  What  we  are  concerned  about, 
therefore,  is  an  episode  of  the  early  spring  in  the 
present  year  of  our  story. 

It  is  quite  simple,  after  all.  We  have  only  to  go 
back  a  year  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  the  matter.  Miss 
Fairweather  and  Mr.  Flanders  were  fellow  lodgers 
in  a  boarding-house  not  far  removed  from  Times 
Square.  She  was  playing  a  small  part  in  one  of  the 
Broadway  theatres  and  was  known  on  the  programme 
as  Amy  Colgate,  the  customary  sop  to  "  family  feel- 

147 


MR.  BINGLE 

ings  "  causing  her  to  abandon  her  own  name  during 
the  neophytic  period  of  her  career.  This  was  a  tem 
porary  concession,  however;  she  intended  to  make  the 
family  name  famous  as  soon  as  she  got  a  "  part  "  that 
would  give  her  a  real  chance.  Flanders  was  on  the 
newspaper,  but  his  aspirations  were  quite  as  lofty 
as  any  one's :  he  was  writing  a  play.  He  had  already 
written  two  novels,  both  of  which  remained  unpub 
lished. 

At  the  outset,  his  play  was  intended  for  Miss  Bar- 
rymore,  but  after  the  second  week  of  his  acquaint 
ance  with  the  attractive  Miss  Colgate  his  ambitions 
proved  fickle :  he  discarded  Miss  Barryrnore  and  sub 
stituted  Miss  Colgate  for  the  star  part  in  the  piece. 
Fortunately  he  had  written  but  six  or  eight  pages  of 
the  first  act,  so  the  transfer-  was  not  a  deleterious 
undertaking.  He  could  see  no  one  else  in  the  part ; 
he  could  think  of  no  one  else  as  he  dreamed  of  the 
play's  success.  Moreover,  Miss  Colgate  was  as 
pleased  as  Punch  over  this  flattering  tribute  to  her 
magnetism  —  for  the  part,  as  described,  was  one  that 
would  not  "  get  over  "  unless  created  by  an  actress 
of  pronounced  magnetic  appeal  —  and  lost  no  time 
in  falling  deeply  in  love  with  the  manly  playwright. 
They  were  serious-minded,  ambitious  young  people. 
It  is  of  small  consequence  that  he  was  an  untried,  un 
skilled  dramatist,  and  of  equally  small  moment  that 
she  was  little  more  than  an  amateur.  They  saw  a 
bright  light  ahead  and  trudged  steadily  toward  it, 
prodding  themselves  —  and  each  other  —  with  all  the 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  AMY  AND  DICK     149 

vain-glorious  artifices  known  to  and  employed  by  the 
young  and  undefeated.  The  young  man's  dramatic 
aspirations  were  somewhat  retarded,  however,  by  the 
fact  that  he  was  so  desperately  enamoured  that  he 
couldn't  confine  his  thoughts  to  the  play ;  so  the 
growth  of  the  first  act  was  slow  and  tortuous.  Under 
other  conditions  he  would  have  despaired  of  ever  com 
pleting  the  thing.  As  it  was,  his  despair  was  of  an 
entirely  different  character  and  had  to  do  with  the 
belief  that  Miss  Colgate  loved  some  one  else  instead 
of  him. 

But  even  doubt  and  uncertainty  possess  virtue  in 
that  they  often  lead  to  rashness,  sometimes  folly. 
In  this  case,  Mr.  Flanders  proposed  marriage,  albeit 
he  couldn't,  for  the  life  of  him,  see  how  he  was  going 
to  manage  on  a  salary  of  twenty-five  dollars  a  week. 
That  was  the  rashness  of  it.  Miss  Colgate  attended 
to  the  folly.  She  said  she  would  marry  him  if  it 
meant  starvation.  So  there  you  are. 

After  that,  ambition  revived  and  worked  smoothly, 
rapidly.  In  the  middle  of  the  second  act,  however, 
the  play  failed  —  that  is  to  say,  the  play  in  which 
Miss  Colgate  was  appearing  on  Broadway.  (It 
failed  in  the  middle  of  Mr.  Flanders'  second  act,  lest 
I  appear  ambiguous.)  The  young  actress  found  her 
self  out  of  employment  and  without  much  prospect  of 
getting  an  engagement  at  that  season  of  the  year  — 
a  bad  year  it  was,  too,  if  you  will  remember  what 
theatrical  people  had  to  say  about  it.  Now,  she 
was  not  obliged  to  work  for  a  living.  She  could 


150  MR.  BINGLE 

have  gone  back  to  her  family  in  Connecticut.  But 
she  was  not  made  of  that  sort  of  stuff.  She  could 
have  gone  back  home  and  married  the  most  desirable 
young  or  old  man  in  the  town.  She  could  have  given 
up  the  stage  and  devoted  herself  to  the  teaching  of 
music,  French  or  wood-carving,  in  which  pursuits 
she  was  far  less  of  an  amateur  than  at  play-acting. 
But  she  was  a  valiant,  undaunted  little  warrior.  She 
announced  that  she  was  ready  to  do  anything  that 
offered,  even  chorus-work. 

And  one  evening  she  told  him  that  she  had  found 
a  place  in  the  chorus  of  a  "  road  show."  She  tried 
to  hide  her  mortification  under  a  somewhat  quivering 
jauntiness,  but  Mr.  Flanders  went  rudely  to  the  bot 
tom  of  the  matter.  She  argued  that  she  could 
change  her  name  and  no  one  would  be  the  wiser.  She 
would  positively  refuse  to  appear  in  tights.  Then 
came  the  episode.  Mr.  Flanders  flew  into  a  scorn 
ful  rage.  He  said  a  great  many  things  that  he  was 
afterwards  ashamed  to  recall.  Among  other  things, 
he  said  he'd  be  hanged  if  he'd  marry  a  chorus-girl; 
as  for  tights,  she  wouldn't  have  any  choice  in  the 
matter,  once  the  manager  set  his  mind  to  it.  She 
had  not  been  in  love  with  him  long  enough  to  submit 
to  bullying,  so  she  sent  him  about  his  business. 
Moreover,  she  coldly  informed  him  that  their  engage 
ment  was  over  and  that  she  never  wanted  to  see  his 
face  again. 

Inasmuch  as  it  would  be  quite  impossible  to  remain 
in  the  same  boarding-house  without  seeing  his 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  AMY  AND  DICK     151 

face  once  in  a  while,  she  moved  out  the  very  next 
day. 

The  "  road  "  was  not  what  she  had  expected,  nor 
was  the  life  of  a  chorus-girl  as  simple  as  it  had  seemed 
from  her  virtuous  point  of  view.  Before  the  first  two 
weeks  were  over,  she  deserted  the  company,  disil 
lusioned,  mortified.  It  had  come  to  a  matter  of 
tights. 

She  returned  to  New  York  and  bravely  resumed 
her  visits  to  managerial  offices  and  to  the  lairs  of 
agents,  in  quest  of  an  engagement  not  quite  so  in 
compatible  with  her  sense  of  delicacy  and  refinement 
as  the  one  she  had  just  abandoned.  But  there  was 
nothing  to  be  had.  More  than  once  she  was  tempted 
to  write  to  Flanders,  begging  him  to  forgive  her  and 
to  forget,  if  he  could,  the  silly  mistake  she  had  made. 
But  love  and  loneliness  were  no  match  for  the  pride 
that  was  a  part  of  her  nature.  She  resolutely  put 
away  the  temptation  to  do  the  perfectly  sensible 
thing,  and,  woman-like,  fortified  herself  against  sur 
render  by  running  away  from  danger. 

She  had  heard  of  the  Bingles  through  a  woman 
playwright  who  wanted  to  dramatise  the  Bingle  en 
terprise.  Nothing,  said  this  enthusiastic  person, 
could  be  more  adorable  than  a  play  based  on  the 
Bingle  methods  of  acquiring  a  family. 

One  day,  in  Central  Park,  she  saw  Mr.  Bingle  and 
seven  of  the  children.  He  looked  happy  but  inade 
quate.  A  grinning  park  policeman  enlightened  her 
as  to  the  identity  of  the  bewildered  little  man.  A  sin- 


152  MR.  BINGLE 

gle  glance  was  all  that  was  necessary  to  convince 
her  that  Mr.  Bingle  was  having  his  hands  full. 

He  had  lost  all  control  of  the  little  ruffians.  (The 
park  policeman  was  the  first  to  call  them  ruffians, 
so  I  may  be  pardoned.)  They  insisted  on  playing 
games  that  Mr.  Bingle  couldn't  play,  and  he  was  be 
ginning  to  look  worried.  Time  and  again  he  tried  to 
herd  them  into  the  big  station  'bus  in  which  he  had 
brought  them  over  from  Seawood  (the  Bingle  estate), 
and  always  with  so  little  success  that  he  was  getting 
hot  and  tired  —  and  farther  away  from  the  convey 
ance  all  the  time.  Still  he  smiled  cheerfully  and  gave 
no  sign  of  losing  his  temper. 

They  were  frolicking  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
lake  at  the  north  end  of  the  park,  and  Miss  Colgate 
was  sitting  on  one  of  the  benches  not  far  removed 
from  the  scene  of  activity.  She  began  to  feel  sorry 
for  the  little  foster-father.  He  was  having  a  time  of 
it!  The  first  thing  he  knew,  one  of  the  little  in 
surgents  would  tumble  into  the  lake  and  —  well,  she 
couldn't  imagine  anything  more  droll  than  Mr.  Bin 
gle  venturing  into  the  water  as  a  rescuer.  At  last, 
moved  by  an  impulse  that  afterwards  took  its  place 
as  the  psychic  capstone  in  her  career,  she  arose  and 
resolutely  went  to  his  relief.  He  was  panting  and 
perspiring,  for  the  spring  day  was  warm. 

"  May  I  help  you  to  gather  them  up  ?  "  she  in 
quired. 

Now,  Mr.  Bingle  was  not  accustomed  to  seeing 
girls  as  pretty  as  the  one  who  accosted  him  so  ami- 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  AMY  AND  DICK     153 

ably.  At  first,  he  said  no,  he  was  very  much  ob 
liged,  he  guessed  he  could  manage  'em,  thank  you. 
He  wasn't  quite  sure  that  it  was  right  for  him  to 
"  take  up "  with  a  strange  and  beautiful  young 
woman  in  a  public  park.  One  never  could  tell  about 
these  well-dressed  women  who  sit  on  park  benches, 
and  yet  appear  to  be  perfectly  free  from  tuberculosis. 
But  Miss  Colgate  insisted,  and  Mr.  Bingle,  taking  a 
second  look  at  her,  said  he  would  be  grateful  if  she'd 
stay  and  watch  the  littlest  ones  while  he  rounded  up 
the  big  ones.  She  shook  her  head,  smiling,  and  gently 
ordered  him  to  sit  down  and  cool  off  a  bit  while  she 
gathered  in  the  recalcitrants. 

"  You  look  so  hot  and  tired,"  she  said,  and  her 
smile  was  so  frankly  sympathetic,  so  commanding  in 
its  sweetness,  that  Mr.  Bingle  promptly  sat  down  and 
said  that  it  beat  all  how  hot  the  weather  was  for 
early  May.  Perhaps  they  would  come  for  her,  he 
went  on  shyly;  if  she  didn't  mind  calling  Frederick, 
that  would  be  sufficient.  Frederick  was  the  rebel 
leader.  He  ought  to  be  spanked.  She  smiled  again, 
and  Mr.  Bingle  said  to  himself  that  he'd  never  seen 
anything  so  nice.  As  she  walked  away,  bent  on 
rounding-up  the  three  boys  and  Kathleen,  he  was  im 
pressed  by  the  slim,  graceful  figure  and  the  manner 
in  which  she  carried  herself.  Nothing  ordinary  or 
common  about  that  girl,  said  he ;  nothing  bold  or  im 
modest.  Out  of  the  goodness  of  her  heart  she  had 
proffered  assistance,  as  any  gently  born  person  would 
have  done.  His  heart  warmed  toward  her.  It  wasn't 


154  MR.  BINGLE 

often  that  one  encountered  a  pretty  girl  who  was 
considerate,  sweet-natured  and  polite  to  her  elders, 
especially  in  New  York  City.  He  almost  forgot  Hen 
rietta  and  Guinevere  in  his  contemplation  of  this 
extraordinary  phenomenon.  Indeed,  Henrietta's 
blubberings  went  quite  unnoticed  for  some  little  time, 
and  it  was  not  until  Guinevere  sent  up  a  sympathetic 
howl  that  he  remembered  the  "  littlest  ones  "  and  has 
tily  took  them  upon  his  knees,  dropping  his  hat  in  his 
haste. 

He  was  considerably  amazed  by  the  swiftness  with 
which  his  ally  "  rounded-up  "  the  five  roisterers.  She 
went  about  it  sweetly,  even  gaily,  yet  with  a  certain 
authority  that  had  an  instant  effect  on  the  young 
sters.  Almost  before  he  knew  what  had  happened, 
she  was  approaching  him  with  the  flushed,  mischie 
vous  "  kiddies  "  in  tow.  They  were  staring  at  the 
strange,  beautiful  young  lady  with  wide-open,  fas 
cinated  eyes.  They  were  abashed,  puzzled;  meek 
with  wonder.  When  she  extended  her  hands  to  Kath 
leen  and  Marie  Louise,  they  came  to  her  shyly  and 
then,  without  so  much  as  a  glance  at  the  three  boys, 
she  calmly  led  them  back  to  the  marvelling  little  mil 
lionaire.  It  was  a  crafty  way  of  bringing  the  boys 
to  time.  Their  curiosity,  cupidity,  envy  —  what  you 
will  —  brought  them  scurrying  up  to  the  group,  and 
not  a  face  was  missing  from  the  ranks  when  she 
stopped  before  Mr.  Bingle  and  said: 

"  And  now  that  we  have  them,  bound  hand  and 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  AMY  AND  DICK     155 

foot,  what  are  we  to  do  with  them?  Put  them  in  a 
dungeon  and  feed  them  on  bread  and  water?  " 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  did  it,"  said  Mr.  Bingle. 
"  It  was  really  quite  wonderful.  Perhaps  it  was 
because  you  are  so  very  pretty.  I  think,  if  you  don't 
object,  I'll  put  'em  in  the  'bus,  take  'em  home  and 
feed  them  on  milk  and  honey  and  jam.  Thank  you, 
thank  you  ever  so  much." 

"  I  love  children  and  I  believe  that  children  like 
me,"  said  she,  her  fingers  gently  caressing  Kathleen's 
brown,  tumbled  locks.  "  That  explains  it,  I  am  sure. 
Now,  boys,  run  on  ahead  and  tell  the  chauffeur  your 
father  is  coming.  And,  listen  to  me:  your  father  is 
tired  and  very,  very  warm.  You  must  not  cause 
him  any  more  distress.  I  am  sure  you  won't,  will 
you?" 

Then  she  wiped  the  tears  from  the  cheeks  of  the 
"  littlest  ones,"  straightened  their  bonnets,  and,  in 
the  end,  proposed  that  she  should  carry  one  of  them 
to  the  'bus. 

Down  in  her  heart,  she  was  coddling  the  wild, 
improbable  hope  that  Mr.  Richard  Flanders  might 
be  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood,  watching  her 
with  proud,  but  remorseful  eyes ! 

Mr.  Bingle  turned  to  her  after  the  children  were 
safely  stowed  away  in  the  'bus  and  ready  for  the 
long  ride  home.  He  had  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  he 
bowed  very  low,  with  the  old-fashioned  courtesy  that 
time  and  environment  had  failed  to  modify. 


156  MR.  BINGLE 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  you  remind  me  of  the  fairy 
princess  that  I  knew  so  well  as  a  boy.  You  spring 
up  out  of  the  ground  and —  Whist!  you  perform 
deeds  of  magic  and  enchantment.  I  am  sorry  that 
we  cannot  have  you  hovering  about  us  forevermore. 
We  are  all  enchanted." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  with  her  gay  smile.  "  Do 
you  still  believe  in  fairies  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  he. 

"And  witches?" 

"Absolutely,"  said  he,  with  boyish  enthusiasm. 
"  And  wizards,  too  —  and,  I'm  ashamed  to  admit  it 
—  ghosts.  Good-bye.  Thank  you  for  the  spell 
you've  cast  upon  us.  I  think  it  has  done  all  of  us 
a  lot  of  good.  I  undertook  a  task  that  was  beyond 
me,  bringing  these  youngsters  here  for  a  lark.  But 
you  see,  I  had  promised  them  the  trip,  and  I  don't 
believe  in  going  back  on  a  promise.  The  governess 
left  us  yesterday,  most  unexpectedly.  She  said  her 
sister  was  ill,  but  —  well,  I  shouldn't  say  anything 
unkind.  Perhaps  her  sister  really  is  ill.  So,  then, 
I  brought  them  all  by  myself.  Mrs.  Bingle  is  in  the 
city  looking  for  a  new  governess.  She  — " 

"  Would  you  consider  — "  began  Miss  Colgate 
eagerly,  and  then  flushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair, 
What  had  come  over  her?  Was  she  on  the  point  of 
applying  for  a  position  as  governess  in  a  family  of  — 
But  why  not?  Why  not?  She  was  tired,  discour 
aged,  and  a  failure  at  the  work  she  had  tried  so 
hard  to  perform. 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  AMY  AND  DICK     157 

"Yes?" 

She  laughed  confusedly.  "  It  was  nothing,  Mr. 
Bingle,  nothing  at  all.  Good-bye.  I  hope  you'll 
get  them  home  safe,  sound  and  —  intact.  They  are 
dears." 

Mr.  Bingle  surveyed  his  brood.  Every  eye  was 
riveted  on  the  face  of  the  strange,  lovely  lady,  and  in 
each  was  the  look  of  complete  subjugation. 

"  You've  hypnotised  them,"  said  he,  wonderingly. 

She  looked  away.  After  a  moment's  hesitation, 
she  cast  the  die  —  urged  by  the  queerest  impulse  that 
had  ever  come  over  her. 

"  Would  you  consider  me,  Mr.  Bingle,  for  the  posi 
tion  that  has  just  been  given  up  by  the  —  the  woman 
whose  sister  is  ill?  " 

He  heard,  but  he  could  not  believe  his  ears.  "  I 
—  I  beg  pardon  ?  "  he  said. 

She  faced  him,  now  resolute  and  eager.  "  I  am 
not  a  fairy  princess,  I  am  not  a  witch.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  I  am  a  very  commonplace  person  who  is 
obliged  to  earn  a  living  one  way  or  another,  and  it 
isn't  always  a  simple  thing  to  do.  Up  to  this  in 
stant,  I  hadn't  the  remotest  thought  of  becoming  a 
governess.  I  don't  know  what  came  over  me  unless 
it  was  loneliness,  thinking  of  my  little  brothers  and 
sisters  at  home.  When  I  first  saw  you  and  the  chil 
dren  nothing  was  farther  from  my  mind  than  the 
thought  that  has  just  come  into  it.  I  do  love  chil 
dren.  I  want  work,  Mr.  Bingle.  I  am  self-sup 
porting.  No  matter  what  may  have  been  my  ambi- 


158  MR.  BINGLE 

tion  up  to  five  minutes  ago,  I  am  content  to  put  it 
aside,  I  am  willing  to  undertake  — " 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  broke  in  Mr.  Bingle,  who 
had  been  slow  to  grasp  her  meaning  and  even  slower 
to  recover  from  his  stupefaction ;  "  you  —  you  really 
have  knocked  me  silly.  I  hadn't  the  faintest  idea  — " 

"  May  I  apply  to  Mrs.  Bingle  to-morrow  ?  "  she 
asked  nervously,  interrupting  him  with  unintentional 
rudeness.  "  I  have  no  references  to  give  as  a  gov 
erness,  but  I  —  I  think  I  can  convince  Mrs.  Bingle 
that  I  would  be  quite  capable.  Do  you  think  there 
would  be  a  chance  for  me  if  I  — " 

Mr.  Bingle  broke  in  once  more,  this  time  with 
acute  enthusiasm.  "  Don't  wait  till  to-morrow,"  he 
exclaimed.  "  Do  it  to-day !  To-morrow  may  be  too 
late.  Harkins,  drive  to  the  nearest  public  telephone. 
We  will  call  up  the  intelligence  office  and  see  if  Mrs. 
Bingle  has  been  there  yet.  If  she  hasn't  — " 

"  Is  she  looking  for  a  governess  in  an  intelligence 
office  ?  "  cried  Miss  Colgate,  in  dismay. 

"  Certainly !  Where  else  ?  Oh,  I  see,"  he  made 
haste  to  add,  sensing  her  expression ;  "  it  isn't  the 
place  to  find  high-grade  governesses,  eh?  Well,  all 
the  better  for  us!  We'll  head  her  off.  Climb  in, 
Miss  —  Miss  — " 

"  Fairweather,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said  she,  and  it  was 
the  first  time  in  two  years  that  she  had  called  herself 
by  that  name.  Of  all  the  millions  of  human  beings 
in  New  York,  but  one  knew  that  her  name  was  Fair- 
weather  —  and  she  had  quarrelled  with  him.  She 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  AMY  AND  DICK     159 

had  told  Dick  Flanders.  He  was  the  kind  of  man 
that  women  tell  things  to  without  reserve  or  without 
considering  the  consequences. 

"  Move  up,  Frederick,"  commanded  Mr.  Bingle. 
"  Make  room  for  Miss  Fairweather.  She's  going  to 
be  the  new  governess.  Lively,  Harkins !  The  near 
est  telephone.  No!  Not  that  saloon  over  there. 
Tackle  an  apartment  house.  Well,  well,  Miss  Fair- 
weather,  this  is  just  like  a  fairy  story  after  all.  I 
told  you  that  I  believed  in  fairies,  didn't  I?  " 

And  that  is  how  Miss  Fairweather  came  to  be  gov 
erness  in  the  Bingle  family,  a  position  for  which  she 
was  suited  by  nature  but  for  which  she  was  utterly 
unqualified  when  it  came  to  experience.  And  that  is 
how  she  managed  to  disappear  so  completely  that 
Richard  Flanders,  love-sick  and  repentant,  could  find 
no  trace  of  her.  There  were  days  —  and  long,  long 
nights  —  when  she  ate  her  heart  out  in  the  hunger 
for  him,  but  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  the  point 
where  starvation  made  it  imperative  for  her  to  go 
begging.  There  was  always  before  her  the  distress 
ing  fear  that  he  might  have  ceasecj.  to  care  for  her  — 
ay,  that  he  might  have  gone  so  far  as  to  transfer  his 
affections  to  some  one  else  as  the  result  of  her  stupid 
notions  concerning  independence. 

No  doubt  he  was  going  his  way  without  a  thought 
of  her,  pleasantly  forgetting  her  or,  at  best,  merely 
remembering  her  as  one  who  had  proved  a  brief  but 
satisfactory  blessing,  as  many  a  passing  sweetheart 
has  been  to  a  man  in  his  flight  through  time.  No, 


160  MR.  SINGLE 

she  argued  in  conflict  with  her  inclinations,  it  was  not 
to  be  thought  of,  this  senseless  desire  to  go  back  and 
begin  all  over  again.  Everything  was  over  between 
them.  She  had  made  her  choice  on  that  never-to- 
be-forgotten  night  and  she  had  gone  out  of  his  life. 
There  was  no  use  bewailing  the  fact  that  she  was  in 
the  wrong  and  that  his  contentions  had  been  justified. 
She  had  made  her  bed,  and  she  would  lie  in  it.  The 
fault  was  with  her,  not  with  him  —  and  yet  she  could 
never  quite  forgive  him  for  being  right!  She 
couldn't  forget  how  angry  she  was  before  she  real 
ised  that  his  judgment  was  better  than  hers.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  she  couldn't  help  being  a  perfectly 
normal  woman:  she  enjoyed  misery. 

It  must  be  recorded  that  she  imposed  upon  the 
B  ingles  in  one  respect :  she  did  not  mention  the  fact 
that  she  was  or  had  been  an  actress.  On  the  other 
hand,  she  did  not  deceive  them  as  to  her  lack  of  ex 
perience  as  a  teacher  of  young  children.  She  con 
fessed  that  the  work  was  new  to  her,  but  she  con 
fessed  it  so  naively,  so  frankly,  that  they  were 
charmed  into  overlooking  the  most  important  detail 
in  the  matter  of  engaging  a  governess.  In  fact,  Mr. 
Bingle  very  properly  said  to  his  wife  that  as  she  was 
expected  to  devote  her  time  to  children  who  had  no 
pedigree,  "  it  wouldn't  be  along  the  line  of  common 
sense  to  exact  references  from  her."  Besides,  said 
he,  she  was  so  sure  to  be  satisfactory.  It  was  only 
necessary  to  look  into  her  honest  eyes  to  feel  sure 
about  that.  And  Mrs.  Bingle,  who  was  just  then 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  AMY  AND  DICK     161 

in  the  throes  of  adopting  Imogene,  agreed  to  every 
thing  that  Imogene's  prospective  father  had  to 
say. 

In  the  meantime,  Mr.  Flanders  had  remained  dog 
gedly  constant.  He  had  surrendered,  as  a  man  will, 
to  reason,  and  had  set  about  to  find  the  girl  of  his 
choice,  determined  to  make  his  peace  with  her.  But 
nowhere  was  she  to  be  found.  He  laid  aside  the  un 
finished  play.  What  was  the  sense  of  writing  a  play 
if  there  was  no  one  to  play  the  principal  part?  He 
was  disconsolate.  He  cursed  himself  for  the  stupid 
thing  he  had  done.  He  had  wrecked  his  life,  that's 
what  he  had  done  —  poor  fool ! 

And  then  came  the  unexpected  meeting  in  the  home 
of  Thomas  Singleton  Bingle,  and  the  detached  scene 
in  the  shelter  of  the  window-nook. 

Mr.  Bingle  experienced  a  second  shock  just  before 
Flanders  darted  out  of  the  house  to  jump  into  the 
waiting  automobile  which  was  to  take  him  to  the 
station  for  the  10 :17  train. 

"Well,  good  night,  Mr.  Bingle,"  cried  the  tall 
young  reporter,  sticking  his  head  through  the  library 
door  in  response  to  the  host's  invitation  to  "  come 
in."  "  Thank  you  for  the  greatest  evening  of  my 
life.  It's  just  like  a  fairy  story.  Oh,  yes,  before  I 
forget  it:  I  want  to  tell  you  how  much  I  enjoyed 
*  The  Chimes.'  I  never  knew  that  Dickens  could 
write  anything  so  — " 

"'The  Chimes'?"  cried  Mr.  Bingle,  abruptly 
leaving  the  little  group  at  the  fireplace  and  bearing 


162  MR.  BINGLE 

down  upon  the  unconscious  offender.  "  What  do 
you  mean?  It  wasn't  '  The  Chimes  '  that  I  — " 

"  Certainly  not,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Flanders,  glibly. 
"  Of  course,  it  wasn't.  I  never  think  of  '  The 
Christmas  Carol '  without  first  thinking  of  *  The 
Chimes.'  Thank  you  for  getting  the  automobile  out 
to  take  me  to  — " 

"  No  trouble  at  all,  my  dear  fellow,"  cried  Mr. 
Bingle,  shaking  hands  with  the  departing  guest.  "  I 
wish  you  a  Merry  Christmas." 

Flanders'  face  was  glowing.  "  It  will  be  the  mer 
riest  Christmas  I've  ever  known,  Mr.  Bingle,"  he 
said,  his  voice  husky  with  emotion.  "  I  owe  it  to 
you,  too.  By  Jove,  sir,  I  believe  I  am  the  happiest 
man  in  all  the  world."  He  almost  shook  the  little 
man's  arm  out  of  its  socket. 

Mr.  Bingle's  smile  was  meant  to  be  beaming.  He 
made  a  valiant  effort  to  rise  above  the  catastrophe 
that  was  to  make  his  Christmas  the  most  miserable 
he  had  ever  known. 

"  Come  to  see  us  every  Christmas  Eve,  my  boy,  if 
it  puts  you  in  such  good  spirits  to  see  the  —  the 
kiddies  — "  his  voice  quavered  a  little  — "  and  to  hear 
the  '  Carol.'  You  will  always  find  the  latchstring 
out." 

"  No  other  Christmas  Eve  will  be  as  glorious  as 
this  one,  sir,"  said  Dick,  gently  dragging  his  host 
into  the  hall  and  lowering  his  voice  to  a  thrilling 
undertone.  "  Not  in  a  million  years.  Why,  it  is 
positively  bewildering.  I  wonder  if  I'm  awake.  Is 


THE  AFFAIRS  OF  AMY  AND  DICK     163 

it  really  true?  I  —  I  can't  believe  that  it  really 
happened.  Take  a  good,  long  look  at  me,  please. 
You  do  see  me,  don't  you?  I  am  really  standing 
here  in  your  house  — " 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  talking  about?" 
gasped  Mr.  Bingle,  drawing  back  a  step  or  two. 
Mr.  Flanders  grabbed  him  by  the  arm.  "  Ouch ! " 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir  —  I  didn't  mean  to  be  rough," 
cried  Flanders.  "  I'm  so  excited  I  don't  know  what 
I'm  doing,  that's  all.  A  man  may  be  excused  for  a 
lot  of  brainstorm  antics  when  he's  going  to  be  mar 
ried  again.  It — " 

"Married  again?  I  thought  you  said  you'd 
never  — " 

"  What  I  mean  is  this :  I  was  going  to  be  mar 
ried  once  and  now  I'm  going  to  be  married  again. 
See?  Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean.  I'm  just  drivel 
ing —  simply  driveling  with  joy.  We  fixed  it  all  up 
fifteen  minutes  after  we  got  together.  You  might 
congratulate  me,  Mr.  Bingle." 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  Congratulate  you  on 
what?" 

"  I'm  going  to  marry  your  governess." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    MAN    CALLED    HINMAN 

B EIGHT  and  early  on  Christmas  morning,  Mr.  Sydney 
Force  walked  slowly,  even  irresolutely  up  the  broad 
avenue  leading  to  Mr.  Bingle's  stupendous  door-step. 
The  snow  had  been  cleared  off  of  the  narrow  foot 
path,  but  the  president  of  the  great  city  bank  was  so 
deeply  engrossed  that  he  failed  to  take  advantage  of 
this  singular  demonstration  of  worthiness  on  the 
part  of  Edgecomb  and  his  assistants  so  soon  after 
the  break  of  dawn.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had 
forgotten  that  it  was  Christmas  morning.  He 
walked  in  the  middle  of  the  roadway,  in  four  inches 
of  snow,  and  kept  his  gaze  fixed  rather  intently  on 
the  big  house  at  the  top  of  the  avenue. 

Mr.  Force  had  not  slept  well.  Indeed,  he  had 
not  slept  at  all.  The  shock  he  had  received  early  in 
the  evening  was  of  the  kind  that  shatters  one's  peace 
of  mind  to  a  degree  but  little  short  of  calamitous.  A 
plunge  into  ice-cold  water  would  have  failed  to  pro 
duce  the  deadly  chill  that  crept  over  him  when  he 
heard  the  name  of  Glenn.  How  he  succeeded  in  con 
trolling  himself  so  well  that  his  profound  agitation 
escaped  the  attention  of  the  others,  he  could  not  ex 
plain.  He  was  amazed  to  find  that  he  had  managed 
it  so  well.  For,  it  must  be  confessed,  Mr.  Force's 

164 


THE  MAN  CALLED  HINMAN          165 

habitual  equanimity  had  undergone  a  strain  that 
came  so  near  to  resulting  in  a  collapse  that  only  a 
miracle  —  (it  may  have  taken  the  form  of  stupefac 
tion,  or  a  kindly  paralysis)  —  only  a  miracle  could 
have  kept  him  from  betraying  the  one  great  secret 
of  his  life. 

Ordinarily,  he  would  have  put  off  calling  on  the 
Bingles  for  a  month  or  six  weeks,  being  that  scorn 
ful  of  social  amenities ;  but  he  could  hardly  wait  for 
the  approach  of  sunrise  to  be  on  his  way  to  Seawood 
on  this  brilliant  Christmas  morning.  It  was  not  a 
brilliant,  shimmering  day  for  him,  however.  He 
saw  nothing  beautiful  in  the  steel-blue  sky:  to  him 
it  was  a  drab,  unlovely  pall.  He  saw  no  beauty  in 
the  snow-clad  foliage,  no  splendour  in  the  bejewelled 
tree-tops,  no  purity  in  the  veil  of  white  that  lay  upon 
the  face  of  the  earth.  He  saw  only  himself,  and  he 
was  a  drear,  bleak  thing  as  viewed  introspectively. 

Nor  is  it  to  be  taken  for  granted  that  Mr.  B ingle 
slept  well  on  this  night  before  Christmas.  Neither 
he  nor  his  wife  went  to  bed  until  far  along  in  the  wee 
sma'  hours.  The  great  house  was  as  still  as  the 
grave,  save  for  the  occasional  crack  of  shrinking 
woodwork  and  the  rattle  of  dislodged  icicles  on  the 
window-ledges  outside.  The  wind  had  died  away. 
It  seemed  that  all  nature,  respecting  their  mood,  had 
hushed  its  every  noise  in  order  that  they  might 
think,  and  think,  and  think  on  without  hope  or  a 
single  sign  of  promise  in  this  time  of  despair. 

They  were  to  lose  Kathleen.     The  man  had  been 


166  MR.  BINGLE 

somewhat  vague  about  it,  but  the  situation  was  clear 
to  them,  even  though  it  was  not  so  to  him.  Their 
claim  to  the  child  —  the  one  they  loved  best  of  all  — 
was  no  longer  undivided.  A  real  father  had  turned 
up  to  assert  his  rights.  They  might  dispute  his 
claim  and  make  the  affair  so  awkward  and  so  unpleas 
ant  for  him  that  he  would  withdraw,  but  what  would 
be  their  gain?  The  man  existed.  He  was  the  real 
father.  Kathleen  was  the  flesh  and  blood  of  this 
tardy  penitent,  this  betrayer  of  women,  this  coward. 
Never  again,  so  long  as  she  lived,  could  she  be  looked 
upon  as  theirs.  Even  though  she  remained  with 
them,  and  in  perfect  contentment,  there  would  still 
be  the  sinister  shadow  lying  across  the  path  —  the 
shadow  of  a  man  hiding,  of  a  man  who  dared  not 
come  out  into  the  open  but  whose  everlasting  pres 
ence  was  a  threat. 

They  did  not  know  this  man,  they  did  not  know 
whether  he  was  a  blackguard  or  a  gentleman.  He 
was  a  destroyer;  that  much  they  knew.  He  had 
wrecked  a  human  life.  The  detective  had  declared 
to  Mr.  Bingle  that  his  client  was  a  man  of  means, 
married,  and  eminently  respectable,  but  then  a  detec 
tive's  idea  of  respectability  is  not  always  a  safe  one 
to  go  by.  Every  man  is  respectable  until  some  one 
is  hired  to  prove  that  he  isn't. 

When  Mr.  Force  rang  the  front  door-bell,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bingle  were  seated  before  the  fire  in  the  library. 
Kathleen  sat  upon  the  former's  knee.  The  rest  of 
the  children  had  been  sent  off  to  the  huge  playroom 


THE  MAN  CALLED  HINMAN          167 

on  the  top  floor,  and  their  distant  shrieks,  muffled  by 
the  thicknesses  of  many  doors  and  walls,  came  faintly 
down  to  the  fireside.  With  the  subdued,  even  refined 
jingle  of  the  door-bell,  the  two  Bingles  straightened 
up  in  their  chairs  and  looked  into  each  other's  eyes, 
suddenly  apprehensive.  Who  could  be  calling  on 
them  at  such  an  early  hour?  Was  it  some  one 
in  connection  with  this  unhappy  business?  Could  it 
be  possible  that  they  had  come  to  take  Kathleen  away 
so  soon? 

"  Better  run  upstairs,  now,  Kathie,"  said  Mr. 
Bingle,  abruptly.  "  Skedaddle !  Go  up  the  back 
way,  dear."  He  thought  of  the  back-stairs  just  in 
time.  It  wouldn't  do  for  her  to  encounter  the 
strange,  perhaps  unfeeling  emissaries  in  the  main 
hall.  No  telling  what  they  might  do.  They  might 
even  take  forcible  possession  of  her  and  be  off  before 
help  could  be  summoned. 

66 1  want  to  stay  here  with  you,  daddy,"  protested 
Kathleen,  resolutely  clinging  to  her  perch  on  his 
knee  —  and  was  not  to  be  dislodged.  Before  Mr. 
Bingle  could  utter  another  word,  Diggs  appeared  in 
the  door  and  announced  Mr.  Force.  Instantly 
Kathleen's  manner  changed.  She  released  her  grip 
on  Mr.  Bingle's  arm  and  slid  to  the  floor.  "  Oh,  I 
hate  him !  I  don't  want  to  see  him." 

"  Kathie !  "  cried  Mrs.  Bingle,  distressed.  "  You 
should  not  say  such  things.  Mr.  Force  is  very  nice 
to  you.  He  likes  you  — " 

"  He  gives  me  a  pain,"  said  Kathleen  succinctly. 


168  MR.  BINGLE 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  gasped  Mr.  Bingle.  "  Where 
did  you  learn  such  language  as  that  ?  " 

"It  isn't  language,  daddy,"  said  Kathie.  "It's 
just  slang.  Everybody  uses  it.  Don't  people  give 
you  a  pain  sometimes  ?  " 

"  Never !  "  said  he.  "  I  don't  believe  in  slang," 
he  added,  as  if  to  fortify  himself  against  a  convic 
tion.  "  You  needn't  go,  deary.  Stay  and  see  Mr. 
Force." 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  him.  I  want  to  see  Fairy. 
Oh,  daddy,  what  are  you  going  to  let  her  get  married 
for?  I  know  Freddie  will  commit  suicide  if  she  mar 
ries  that  old  Flanders." 

"Freddie?     What  business  is  it  of  his?" 

"  I  mustn't  tell,"  she  said,  suddenly  realising  that 
she  had  been  on  the  point  of  betraying  a  grave  secret. 
An  instant  later  she  was  off  like  the  wind,  whisking 
out  of  one  door  as  Mr.  Force  entered  by  the  other. 

"  Dear  me,  dear  me,"  sighed  Mr.  Bingle,  staring  at 
his  wife  helplessly ;  "  what  do  you  suppose  has  hap 
pened  to  Frederick?  A  boy  of  his  age  talking  of 
suicide  is  —  Oh,  good  morning,  Mr.  Force.  Merry 
Christmas !  Ton  my  word,  you're  an  early  bird. 
Come  up  to  the  fire.  You  look  half  frozen.  Why, 
by  George,  your  teeth  are  chattering.  Diggs ! 
Throw  on  a  couple  of  logs,  will  you,  and  get  the 
whiskey.  We  keep  it  for  medicinal  purposes  and  — " 

"  Not  for  me,"  broke  in  Mr.  Force  hastily.  "  Not 
a  thing  to  drink,  old  man.  I'm  quite  all  right.  It 
is  a  bit  snappy  outside.  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Bingle. 


THE  MAN  CALLED  HINMAN          169 

How  are  you  feeling  since  the  —  I  beg  your  pardon, 
Bingle,  I  really  don't  want  a  drink.  Silly  of  me  to 
shiver  like  this.  You'd  think  I  had  a  chill,  wouldn't 
you?  But  I'll  be  all  right  in  a  minute  or  two." 

He  stood  with  his  back  to  the  blazing  logs.  His 
teeth  were  chattering,  but  not  because  of  the  cold. 
Every  nerve  in  his  body  was  on  edge ;  his  physical 
being  was  merely  responding  to  the  turmoil  that 
filled  his  brain.  Could  they  have  seen  his  hands, 
'clasped  behind  his  back,  they  might  have  wondered 
why  the  fingers  were  locked  together  in  a  grip  so 
fierce  that  the  cords  stood  out  in  ridges  on  his  wrists. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  miss,  not  having  chil 
dren  about  you  on  Christmas  morning,"  said  Mr. 
Bingle,  planting  his  small  figure  alongside  that  of 
the  tall  man  and  attempting  to  spread  his  coat  tails, 
an  utter  impossibility  in  view  of  the  fact  that  he  had 
no  tails  to  spread,  being  incased  in  a  dressing  gown 
that  reached  almost  to  his  heels  when  he  stood  erect 
but  unmistakably  touched  the  floor  if  he  permitted 
his  dignity  to  sag  in  the  least  —  and  he  was  having 
some  difficulty  in  maintaining  his  dignity  on  this 
doleful  morning,  it  may  be  said.  "  It  would  have 
done  your  heart  good,  Force,  if  you  could  have  been 
here  this  morning  —  say  at  half-past  six  —  and  seen 
the  circus  we  had.  Well,  sir,  it  was  — " 

"  Half-past  six?  My  dear  man,  you  don't  mean 
to  say  those  little  rascals  got  you  out  of  bed  at  that 
ungodly  hour.  Why,  I  would  have  — " 

"  Just   the   other  way   'round,"  said  Mr.  Bingle, 


170  MR.  BINGLE 

sheepishly.  "  We  had  to  fairly  yank  'em  out  of  bed. 
We  are  the  rascals,  Force  —  Mary  and  I.  We 
couldn't  wait,  don't  you  see?  But,  of  course,  you 
don't  see.  You  couldn't  see  unless  you'd  been  count 
ing  on  Christmas  morning  for  months.  You  — 
But,  what's  the  matter,  Force?  'Pon  my  word,  you 
do  need  a  bracer.  Mary,  dear,  won't  you  see  if  — " 
"  See  here,  Bingle,"  blurted  out  Mr.  Force,  in 
desperation,  "  I  want  a  few  words  with  you  alone. 
It  is  —  imperative.  Hope  you  will  excuse  me,  Mrs. 
Bingle.  I'm  a  bit  upset  —  yes,  considerably  upset 

—  over  something  that  has  come  up  in  the  —  er  — 
that   is   to   say,   quite   recently.     I  —  I   want  your 
husband's  advice  on  —  on  a  matter  of  grave  impor 
tance." 

The  Bingles  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  in  speech 
less  concern.  Then  Mr.  Bingle  managed  to  give 
expression  to  the  fear  that  entered  his  heart  as  Force 
concluded  his  amazing  remarks. 

"Anything  —  anything  wrong  at  the  bank?"  he 
inquired,  swallowing  hard.  Was  the  man  about  to 
tell  him  that  the  bank  —  the  great  bank  —  was 
going  under,  that  there  had  been  defalcations,  that 

—  but  even  as  he  pictured  the  collapse  of  the  bank 
there   shot   into   his   brain   another   and   still   more 
ghastly    thought:  had   the    Supreme   Court    decided 
against  him  in  the  long-fought  case  of  Hooper  et  al 
vs.  Bingle? 

"  Certainly  not,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Force,  with  sud 
den  irascibility.  His  nerves  were  at  a  high  tension, 


THE  MAN  CALLED  HINMAN          171 

there  was  no  denying  that.  "  Nothing  whatever  to 

do  with  the  bank,  sir.  What  the  dev what  could 

have  put  such  a  thought  into  your  head,  Bingle?  " 

"  You  looked  so  —  so  blasted  serious,"  said  Mr. 
Bingle,  with  surprising  heat. 

"  Thomas !  "  cried  his  wife,  aghast. 

"  Beg  pardon,  Force,"  muttered  Mr.  Bingle,  very 
much  ashamed  of  himself.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  be  pro 
fane.  I  guess  I'm  a  little  nervous  myself." 

"  Can't  I  look  serious  without  putting  the  bank  on 
its  last  legs  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Force,  glaring. 

"  Certainly,"  Mr.  Bingle  made  haste  to  assure 
him.  "  Look  as  serious  as  you  please,  Force.  I 
know  it  can't  hurt  the  bank.  Don't  go,  Mary.  Mr. 
Force  and  I  will  slip  up  to  my  study.  We  are  less 
likely  to  be  interrupted  there." 

"  I  trust  Mrs.  Force  is  well,"  said  the  lady  of  Sea- 
wood,  and  there  was  a  note  of  anxiety  in  her  voice. 
There  had  been  a  queer  taste  to  the  lobster  a  la 
Newburg.  She  remembered  mentioning  it  to  Mr. 
Bingle  after  the  company  had  gone. 

Mr.  Force  was  guilty  of  an  uneasy  start.  What 
was  the  woman  driving  at?  What  put  it  into  her 
head  to  mention  his  wife?  Why  shouldn't  his  wife 
be  well? 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you,"  he  said  at  the  end  of  a 
deep  exhalation.  Indeed  he  was  quite  without  breath 
when  he  came  to  the  "  thank  you."  It  would  have 
been  better  if  he  hadn't  tried  to  be  so  courteous. 
"  Quite  well,"  would  have  been  sufficient.  He  real- 


172  MR.  BINGLE 

ised,  as  he  wheezily  filled  his  lungs,  that  the  "  thank 
you "  was  entirely  superfluous.  In  any  event,  it 
wasn't  so  important  that  he  should  have  gone  to  the 
pains  of  upsetting  his  dignity  in  order  to  say  it,  no 
matter  if  it  was  the  proper  thing  to  say.  He  always 
hated  anything  that  caused  him  to  become  red  in  the 
face. 

"  It's  quite  a  relief,"  said  Mrs.  Bingle,  brighten 
ing.  It  would  have  been  dreadful  if  anything  had 
been  the  matter  with  the  lobster. 

But  Mr.  Force  knew  nothing  whatever  about  the 
suspected  lobster  and  being  in  considerable  doubt  as 
to  just  how  much  of  Miss  Glenn's  story  the  Bingles 
had  learned,  very  naturally  believed  that  the  good 
lady  was  concerned  about  Mrs.  Force's  peace  of 
mind  rather  than  her  state  of  health.  He  grew  per 
fectly  scarlet  and  mumbled  something  about  his  wife 
sleeping  like  a  log,  and  then  hastily  followed  Mr. 
Bingle  out  of  the  room. 

"  Troubles  never  come  singly,  do  they,  Force  ?  " 
said  Bingle  as  they  mounted  the  stairs.  He  sighed 
deeply. 

"  So  they  say,"  said  Force,  also  sighing.  He  was 
thinking  of  the  interview  that  was  to  come.  He 
was  wondering  just  how  he  was  going  to  explain 
things  to  Mr.  Bingle. 

"  She  isn't  to  be  married  till  spring,  but  —  Oh, 
well,  I  suppose  I  shouldn't  complain." 

Mr.  Force  stopped  stock-still  on  the  stairs. 
"  Mar-married  ?  "  he  gasped.  "  Are  you  crazy  ?  " 


THE  MAN  CALLED  HINMAN         173 

"  Almost,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  promptly.  "  If  any 
thing  more  happens,  I'll  be  wholly  so.  Come  in, 
Force.  Now,  old  chap?  what's  on  your  mind? " 
They  had  entered  the  study.  Mr.  Bingle  faced  his 
visitor  after  closing  the  door  carefully  behind  him. 
"  Out  with  it  ?  Don't  keep  me  in  suspense.  Has  — 
has  the  case  finally  gone  against  me?  " 

"  Who  is  going  to  be  married  in  the  spring?  "  de 
manded  Force,  wiping  his  brow. 

"  Miss  Fairweather.     I  thought  you  knew." 

"Oh,  the  devil!  Of  course  not!  What  do  I 
know  about  Miss  Fairweather's  affairs  ?  " 

"  Flanders  is  the  man.  He's  the  lucky  dog.  An 
old  affair,  Force.  Tremendously  romantic  story 
back  of  — " 

"  Needn't  mind,  Bingle.  I  don't  care  to  hear  it  at 
present.  I've  got  something  a  great  deal  more  im 
portant  to  think  about  —  dammit."  He  sat  down 
heavily,  and  began  fumbling  for  his  cigar  case.  His 
forehead  was  dripping  wet. 

"  It  must  be  serious,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  slowly,  "  or 
you  wouldn't  be  swearing  as  you  do,  Force.  I've 
never  heard  you  swear  before." 

"  It  is  serious.  Of  all  the  improbable,  dime  novel, 
hellish  —  But  tell  me,  Bingle:  how  much  do  you 
know?  " 

"  How  much  do  I  know  about  what  ?  " 

"  Didn't  that  fellow  blab  anything  to  you  last 
night?" 

«Bla blab?" 


174  MR.  BINGLE 

v 

Force  pointed  to  a  chair.  "  Sit  down.  Are  you 
sure  no  one  can  hear  what  I'm  saying?  " 

"  No  one  but  yours  truly,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  as 
suming  a  jauntiness  he  did  not  feel.  He  sat  down, 
his  back  as  stiff  as  a  board. 

His  visitor  leaned  forward,  his  hands  grasping  the 
arms  of  the  chair.  "  Well,  I'll  tell  you  something, 
Bingle,  that  will  paralyse  you.  I  —  I  didn't  sleep  a 
wink  last  night." 

"  That  doesn't  paralyse  me.     Neither  did  I  — " 

"  This  is  no  time  to  be  funny,  Bingle,"  said  the 
other  roughly.  "  Do  you  want  to  know  what  kept 
me  awake  all  night,  suffering  the  torments  of  the 
damned?  " 

"  I  do,"  responded  Mr.  Bingle,  casting  a  quick 
glance  at  Mr.  Force's  jaw.  He  knew  what  it  was 
to  have  a  toothache. 

"  Well,  it  was  that  miserable  business  about  — 
about  Kathleen,"  said  Force,  a  querulous  note  creep 
ing  into  his  voice.  Mr.  Bingle  did  not  think  it  worth 
while  to  tell  him  that  it  was  the  same  miserable  busi 
ness  that  kept  him  awake.  "  Now,  I  want  the  truth, 
Bingle.  I  want  to  be  sure  before  I  go  ahead.  It 
means  a  great  deal  to  both  of  us.  Was  Kathleen's 
mother  named  Agnes  Glenn?  " 

"  It  was,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  his  eyes  narrowing 
with  the  dawn  of  comprehension. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  her?  " 

"Once,  just  before  she  died." 

"Describe  her,  Bingle." 


THE  MAN  CALLED  HINMAN          175 

"  I  can't.  Good  Lord,  man,  my  eyes  were  blind 
with  tears  all  the  time  I  was  — 

"  Never  mind,"  broke  in  Force.  "  We  won't  go 
into  that,  after  all.  Did  she  tell  you  anything  about 
herself,  her  past  life,  her  —  her  trouble?  " 

"  Not  a  word.  She  was  just  about  to  enter  the 
future  life,  Force.  She  hadn't  much  to  say.  Sim 
ply  said  that  she  hoped  I'd  be  good  to  her  little  baby, 
that's  all.  Go  on,  man." 

Mr.  Force  appeared  to  be  lost  in  bleak  abstrac 
tion.  The  curt  command  brought  him  out  of  it  with 
a  start. 

"  She  went  by  the  name  of  Mrs.  Hinman,  you  say. 
No  other  name  was  mentioned,  then  or  afterwards?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  can  tell  you  something  about  her,  Bingle.  She 
lived  for  three  years  as  the  wife  of  a  man  who  called 
himself  Hinman.  She  wasn't  his  wife  and  that 
wasn't  his  name.  She'd  been  on  the  stage.  She  went 
to  live  with  this  man  as  his  wife.  She  was  a  good 
girl  up  to  the  time  she  met  this  man  and  fell  in  love 
with  him.  Her  home  was  in  the  West.  Her  parents 
were  respected,  God-fearing  people.  They  never 
knew  that  she  —  that  she  took  up  the  life  she  led 
with  —  Hinman.  Don't  interrupt  me,  Bingle.  If 
I  don't  get  it  out  now,  I'll  never  have  the  courage  to 
try  it  again.  No  man  was  ever  in  such  a  desperate 
plight  as  I  find  myself  in  to-day.  I'll  come  straight 
to  the  point.  I  am  the  man  called  Hinman  and  — 
this  child  you've  got  here  with  j ou  is  —  mine." 


176  MR.  BINGLE 

He  might  have  had  the  grace  to  exhibit  some  sign 
of  shame  or  compunction,  but  he  did  nothing  of  the 
kind.  He  merely  looked  defiant,  as  if  expecting  Mr. 
Bingle  to  say  something  that  he  could  resent. 

But  Mr.  Bingle  sank  deeper  into  his  chair,  his 
chin  buried,  his  eyes  fastened  in  a  sort  of  horror 
upon  the  face  of  the  President  of  the  great  bank. 
He  was  incapable  of  uttering  a  word. 

After  a  little  while  Force  went  on :  "  Blood  will 
tell.  All  this  accounts  for  the  peculiar,  inexplicable 
attraction  that  Kathleen  has  held  for  me.  It  is  like 
a  chapter  out  of  an  impossible  novel.  It — " 

"  And  perhaps  it  accounts  for  the  antipathy  the 
poor  child  has  for  you,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  his  voice 
a  trifle  shrill  and  uncertain.  He  did  not  take  his 
gaze  from  the  face  of  his  visitor.  "  It  now  seems 
quite  natural  to  me." 

"  Nonsense !  The  child  had  no  means  of  knowing 
or  even  suspecting  that  I  — " 

"  She  had  a  birthright,  Force.  You  can't  take 
that  away  from  her.  The  hatred  for  her  father  was 
born  in  her.  God  wouldn't  let  her  hate  the  wrong 
man,  you  know." 

Force  got  up  from  the  chair,  tremendously  moved 
all  of  a  sudden.  A  piteous,  pleading  look  came  into 
his  eyes,  and  his  face,  once  arrogant,  was  now  hag 
gard  with  despair. 

"  Bingle,  I  —  I  want  you  to  help  me.  For  God's 
sake,  do  what  you  can  for  me.  Put  into  practice 


THE  MAN  CALLED  HINMAN         177 

your  beautiful  Christmas  Carol  teachings.  I  —  I 
want  her.  She  must  be  made  to  understand  that  I 
love  her,  she  must  be  made  to  feel  that  she  is  every 
thing  in  the  world  to  me.  She  looks  like  her  mother. 
I  thought  it  was  fancy  on  my  part,  but  now  I  know. 
Good  God,  little  did  I  know  where  fate  was  going  to 
lead  me  when  I  employed  those  fellows  to  find  the 
child  of  Agnes  Glenn.  Little  did  I  know  that  it 
would  lead  me  to  your  door,  Bingle." 

Mr.  Bingle  arose.  He  was  very  pale  and  shaken, 
but  he  managed  to  control  himself  with  remarkable 
fortitude. 

"  I  have  not  told  you  that  Agnes  Glenn  died  of 
starvation  —  and  carbolic  acid,"  he  said  slowly. 
"Have  your  detectives  told  you  that?" 

"  Carbolic  acid?  "  whispered  Force,  with  staring 
eyes.  "  Starvation?  Good  God,  man  —  not  that !  " 

"  Yes  —  that !  The  Society  found  her  when  she 
was  about  gone.  I  was  notified.  We  were  looking 
for  a  child.  This  baby  of  hers  was  then  about  two 
years  old.  Mrs.  Bingle  and  I  went  to  the  poor  little 
flat  where  they  had  found  her,  after  the  neighbours 
had  told  the  police  of  her  plight.  She  was  sick  unto 
death.  I  said  that  we  would  care  for  her  baby  as  if 
it  were  our  own.  Then  I  made  arrangements  to  have 
her  removed  to  a  hospital  at  once.  While  we  were 
out  of  the  room,  she  took  the  carbolic  acid.  That's 
the  way  it  happened,  Force.  That  was  the  end  of 
Agnes  Glenn.  She  was  a  splendid  character,  Force. 


178  MR.  BINGLE 

She  did  not  betray  you.  She  stuck  by  you  to  the 
very  end.  She  protected  you  a  great  deal  better 
than  you  protected  her." 

"  See  here,  Bingle,  I  don't  like  your  tone.  It 
sounds  preachy.  You  don't  know  anything  about 
life,  so  you  can't  understand.  That  sort  of  thing  is 
—  well,  it  happens  to  a  good  many  men  and  no  one 
thinks  much  about  it.  I  daresay  that  half  the  men 
you  know  have  had  just  such  an  experience.  It's 
part  of  the  game  here  in  New  York.  The  girls  un 
derstand  it.  They  have  no  illusions.  They  know 
that  these  men  cannot  —  or  will  not  marry  them. 
So,  as  you  don't  know  anything  about  life  as  it's 
practised  now-a-days,  I'd  advise  you  to  go  slow  with 
your  platitudes." 

"  All  right,  Force,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  quietly.  "  If 
that's  the  way  you  feel  about  it,  there's  no  use  wast 
ing  time  over  nothing.  I  can't  resist  saying,  how 
ever,  that  I  didn't  think  it  was  in  you  to  be  so  damned 
cold-blooded." 

"Cold-blooded  over  what?  The  Glenn  girl? 
Why,  my  dear  man,  that  was  nearly  thirteen  years 
ago.  I  am  sorry  that  she  had  to  go  the  way  she 
did,  but,  good  Lord,  I  can't  go  through  life  in  sack 
cloth  and  ashes  because  she  died  —  as  a  lot  of  people 
do,  every  year,  you  know.  Hers  was  not  an  uncom 
mon  case.  There  are  thousands  just  like  it  happen 
ing  every  year.  It's  the  price  we  all  pay,  men  and 
women.  There's  no  use  being  sentimental  about  a 
perfectly  commonplace  —  I  might  even  say  legiti- 


THE  MAN  CALLED  HINMAN         179 

mate  —  transaction.  Agnes  Glenn  was  like  the  rest 
of  her  kind:  she  had  a  very  sharp  pair  of  eyes  open 
all  of  the  time,  you  may  be  quite  sure  of  that.  I 
will  say  this  for  her,  poor  little  devil:  she  was  no 
blackmailer.  She  got  down  and  out  when  the  time 
came  and  she  never  squealed.  That's  more  than 
most  of  'em  do,  Bingle.  Ton  my  soul,  old  man,  I 
came  here  to  see  you  this  morning  fairly  trembling 
in  my  boots.  I  had  an  idea  it  was  going  to  be  a  hard, 
nasty  business  talking  it  over  with  you,  but  —  by 
George,  it  isn't.  Now,  we  can  get  down  to  rock- 
bottom,  Bingle.  My  plan  was  to  — " 

"  Just  a  minute,  please,"  interrupted  Mr.  Bingle, 
quite  steadily.  "  Did  you  know  that  she  was  going 
to  become  a  mother?  " 

"  Certainly.  You  don't  suppose  I'd  be  looking 
for  the  child  if  I  hadn't  known  she  was  to  be  born, 
do  you?  I'd  be  a  nice  fool,  hiring  detectives  to  un 
earth  some  other  man's  child,  wouldn't  I?  " 

"  I  must  agree  with  you  in  one  particular,  Force ; 
you  are  not  finding  it  as  hard  as  you  thought  it  would 
be.  I've  never  seen  a  man  change  more  than  you 
have  in  the  past  four  minutes.  You  were  shaking 
like  a  leaf  when  you  came  up  here,  and  now  —  well, 
'pon  my  soul,  you  are  as  brave  as  a  lion.  That 
certainly  proves  one  thing." 

"What's  that?" 

"  That  your  conscience  is  clearing." 

"  Now,  don't  get  it  into  your  head,  Bingle,  that 
I'm  not  dreadfully  sorry  for  the  way  that  poor  girl 


180  MR.  BINGLE 

came  to  her  end.  She  was  really  a  brick.  She  de 
served  something  better." 

"  Knowing  that  she  was  going  to  bear  your  child, 
Force,  you  have  every  reason,  I  am  sure,  to  say  that 
she  was  a  brick.  I,  too,  say  that  she  deserved  some 
thing  better  than  being  the  mother  of  your  child. 
What  happened?  Did  she  leave  you  of  her  own  ac 
cord?  " 

"  In  a  way,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Force  coolly.  "  In  the 
customary  way,  of  course.  You  see,  I  was  about  to 
be  married,  Bingle.  When  I  explained  the  situation 
to  her,  she  understood.  She  knew  that  I  couldn't 
go  on  leading  the  sort  of  life  I'd  led  before  — " 

"  You  hesitate,  Force.  Why  couldn't  you  go  on 
leading  the  life  you'd  led  before?  I  should  say  it 
was  quite  as  decent  at  one  time  as  another." 

"  By  Jove,  Bingle,  I  hadn't  the  remotest  idea  you 
were  so  simple.  I  thought  you  at  least  knew  some 
thing  about  life.  You  amaze  me.  You  are  posi 
tively  refreshing.  Let  me  ask  you,  Bingle,  would 
you  have  gone  on  leading  the  old  life  as  —  now,  man 
to  man,  Bingle  —  would  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  simply.  A  queer  unex 
pected  little  smile  flitted  across  his  face  —  a  wry 
smile,  perhaps,  but  still  a  sign  of  humour.  "  You 
see,  Force,  I  love  children." 

Mr.  Force  stared  at  him  without  comprehension. 
What  the  deuce  had  that  to  do  with  it? 

"  Oh,  well,  you  can't  understand,  of  course.  To 
make  it  short,  she  was  extremely  reasonable.  As  a 


THE  MAN  CALLED  HINMAN          181 

matter  of  fact,  when  I  went  up  to  see  her  the  day 
after  I  had  told  her  that  I  was  to  be  married,  hang 
me  if  she  hadn't  cleared  out.  No  scene,  no  tears,  no 
maledictions  —  just  good,  hard  sense,  Bingle,  that's 
what  it  was.  Not  many  of  them  would  have  been  so 
decent  about  it.  They  usually  make  a  bluff  or  some 
thing  of  the  sort  —  money,  you  know,  regular  black 
mail.  But  she  didn't.  She  got  out  as  quietly  as  a 
mouse,  left  no  trace  behind,  no  regrets,  no  com 
plaints.  Just  a  note  saying  she  understood  and 
wishing  me  luck.  Rather  fine,  eh?  " 

"  And  you  married  right  after  that  ?  " 

"  Six  weeks  afterward." 

66  And,  of  course,  the  present  Mrs.  Hinman  knows 
that  she's  got  a  step-daughter?  " 

"The  present  Mrs.  Hinman?  Step-daughter? 
Good  Lord,  Bingle,  I  didn't  know  you  had  that  much 
sarcasm  in  you.  But  that  delicate  remark  of  yours 
brings  me  back  to  the  main  issue  —  the  matter  I 
really  came  over  to  see  you  about.  Naturally  Mrs. 
Force  knows  nothing  of  —  of  this  story  I've  been 
telling  you.  Now,  what  I  want  to  get  at  is  just  this : 
how  can  we  manage  it  about  Kathleen  without  caus 
ing  my  wife  to  suspect?  Put  your  mind  to  it, 
Bingle.  How  am  I  going  to  take  the  child  under  my 
wing,  so  to  speak  —  take  her  into  my  home,  with 
out  — " 

"  Wait !  We'll  look  at  it  from  another  point  of 
view.  Suppose  this  detective  of  yours  had  found 
your  child  in  the  slums  of  New  York,  a  street  waif, 


MR.  BINGLE 

a  beggar  —  what  then?  Was  it  your  intention  to 
take  her  into  your  home  in  that  case?  Wasn't  it 
your  idea  to  provide  a  home  for  her  in  some  respect 
able  family,  educate  her,  give  her  a  secret  allowance 
—  and  let  it  go  at  that?  Can  you  honestly  say  to 
me,  Force,  that  you  intended  to  adopt  her  —  as  you 
are  now  thinking  of  doing?  " 

"  Confound  you,  Bingle,  isn't  it  only  reasonable 
that  I  should  have  wanted  to  see  the  child  before  I 
made  any  definite  plans  for  her  future?  " 

"  And  now  that  you've  seen  her,  and  found  her  to 
be  an  adorable,  lovely,  even  high-bred  little  creature, 
you  think  it's  all  right  to  take  her  into  your  own 
home  —  into  her  father's  home  ?  " 

66  Don't  be  hard  on  me,  Bingle.  Can't  you  under 
stand  that  I've  got  a  father's  feelings  after  all? 
Can't  you  credit  me  with — " 

"  I'll  go  back  a  dozen  years,  Force,  and  ask  you 
this  question:  did  you  make  any  effort  to  find  this 
child  and  provide  for  her  when  she  was  a  tiny  baby? 
Did  you  do  anything  toward  helping  the  mother  in 
her  time  of  trouble?  " 

"  I  tried  to  help  her,  Bingle,  before  God  I  did," 
cried  Force  earnestly.  "  I'm  not  such  a  rotter  as  all 
that.  Agnes  wrote  me  a  brief  note  when  the  baby 
was  born.  I  happened  to  be  off  on  my  wedding- 
journey  at  the  time.  She  said  she  merely  wanted  me 
to  know  that  she  had  a  little  girl  baby,  and  she  went 
on  to  say  that  she'd  starve  before  she'd  take  a  penny 
from  me  for  its  support.  That's  the  truth,  Bingle, 


THE  MAN  CALLED  HINMAN         183 

I  swear  it.  When  I  got  back  from  California,  I 
tried  to  find  Agnes.  I  wanted  to  do  the  right  tiling. 
I  wanted  to  make  the  rest  of  her  life  easy  and  com 
fortable.  But  I  couldn't  find  her." 

"  Did  you  hunt  very  long?  " 

"  Long  enough.  A  year  or  so  later  I  heard  that 
she  was  dead  and  that  the  child  had  been  taken  into 
a  good  home.  There  was  nothing  more  for  me  to 
do.  I  dropped  the  matter.  Then,  recently,  I  began 
to  think  about  the  child.  I  began  to  want  her.  I 
engaged  detectives  to  — " 

"  We  know  all  about  that,"  interrupted  Mr.  Bingle 
crisply.  "  And  now  I  think  we  understand  each 
other  clearly,  Force.  You  want  Kathleen.  So  do 
I.  There's  only  one  way  for  you  to  get  her,  and 
that  is  to  have  Mrs.  Force  intercede  for  you.  If 
your  wife  comes  to  me  and  says  that  she  wants  Kath 
leen,  I'll  give  her  up,  even  though  it  breaks  my  heart. 
What  have  you  to  say,  Force?  " 

Force  had  lost  all  his  lofty  confidence.  He  was 
shaking  again,  as  with  the  ague.  This  was  not  at 
all  what  he  had  bargained  for.  Who  would  have 
dreamed  it  of  Bingle? 

"  Come  now,  Bingle,  let  us  get  together  — " 

Mr.  Bingle  interrupted  him  in  no  uncertain  man 
ner.  He  planted  himself  squarely  in  front  of  the  big 
man  —  in  fact,  almost  under  his  nose  —  and  snarled : 

"  There's  only  one  way  for  you  to  get  Kathleen 
away  from  me,  Force,  and,  darn  you,  I  don't  believe 
you'll  undertake  it.  I  shall  give  her  up  to  you  only 


184  MR.  BINGLE 

on  condition  that  you  acknowledge  her  to  be  your 
daughter." 

Force's  jaw  dropped.  "Are  you  crazy,  Bingle?  " 
he  gasped.  He  lifted  his  head  the  next  instant  in 
order  to  avoid  the  agitated  finger  that  was  being 
shaken  under  his  nose. 

"  I  don't  intend  that  you  shall  say  to  the  world 
that  she  is  a  child  of  shame.  Not  at  all,  sir !  That 
would  be  the  height  of  cruelty.  But  you've  got  to 
tell  your  wife  the  story  you've  told  me  if  you  want  to 
take  Kathleen  away  from  me.  She  has  got  to  know 
that  the  child  is  yours.  You  can't  come  any  adop 
tion  dodge  over  me,  Force.  She's  already  adopted. 
She  — " 

"  But,  great  heaven,  man,  my  wife  wouldn't  have 
her  in  the  house  if  —  if  she  knew  the  truth  about 
her,"  exploded  the  wretched  Force.  "  No  woman 
would  stand  for  that." 

"  Then,  by  the  eternal  Moses,"  shouted  Mr.  Bingle, 
"  she'll  stay  right  here  with  Daddy  and  Mammy 
Bingle." 

"  But  she's  mine !  If,  as  you  say,  she  is  the  daugh 
ter  of  Agnes  Glenn  there  isn't  the  slightest  doubt 
that  she  belongs  to  me.  I  want  to  do  the  right  thing 
by  the  child.  I  want  to  — " 

"  No  use  talking,  Force.     There's  but  one  way." 

"  But,  damn  it  all,  I  can't  go  to  my  wife  with  all 
this  !  I  can't  — " 

"  Then  Kathleen  stays  where  she  is,"  said  Mr. 
Bingle  firmly. 


THE  MAN  CALLED  HINMAN         185 

66  Great  Scott,  man,  what  difference  can  it  make 
to  you?  You  can  adopt  another  child  to-morrow 
and  fill  her  place.  It  isn't  as  if  she  were  your  own 
child.  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  have  a  child  of 
your  own  —  your  own  flesh  and  blood.  You  can't 
have  a  father's  feeling  for — " 

"  That  will  do,  Force !  You've  said  enough. 
The  matter  stands  as  it  is.  I'll  tell  you  something 
else  though  before  we  part:  I  don't  want  you  com 
ing  to  this  house  annoying  Agnes  Glenn's  child. 
I  shall  tell  my  wife  all  that  you  have  told  me  and  I'd 
advise  you  to  tell  yours,  because  I  don't  want  you 
to  put  your  foot  inside  my  door  until  you  can  come 
here  with  Mrs.  Force  and  humbly  —  you  notice  I  say 
humbly  ?  —  implore  us  to  give  up  that  which  belongs 
to  us  by  virtue  of  that  old  law  of  salvage.  I  have 
already  wished  you  a  Merry  Christmas,  Mr.  Force. 
Now  permit  me  to  bid  you  good  morning." 

He  strode  to  the  study  door  and  opened  it.  His 
chin  was  high  and  his  eyes  were  uncommonly  bright. 
The  hem  of  the  dressing  gown  was  farther  from  the 
floor  than  it  had  ever  been  during  his  ownership. 

"  I'll  think  it  over,  Bingle,"  muttered  Mr.  Force, 
very  red  in  the  face  as  he  stalked  past  the  little  man 
and  started  down  the  stairs.  "  Good  morning !  " 

"  Good  morning !  " 


CHAPTER  X 

MR.    BINGLE    THINKS    OF    BECOMING    AN    ANGEL 

FLANDERS  was  a  constant  visitor  at  Seawood.  In 
the  fortnight  immediately  following  the  all-important 
Christmas  Eve,  he  appeared  at  the  Bingle  home  on 
no  less  than  ten  separate  occasions. 

"  I  see  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Force  are  sailing  for 
Europe  to-morrow,"  said  he  on  his  most  recent  visit. 

"  You  don't  say  so ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Bingle. 
"  It's  news  to  me." 

There  was  every  reason  in  the  world  why  it  should 
be  news  to  him.  He  had  neither  seen  nor  heard  from 
Force  since  that  Christmas  morning  ultimatum. 
Purposely  Mr.  Bingle  had  stayed  away  from  the 
bank,  where,  as  its  first  vice-president,  he  was  wont 
to  spend  much  of  his  time  looking  after  the  comfort 
and  advancement  of  the  bookkeepers  and  clerks. 
He  never  overlooked  an  opportunity  to  help  his  old 
comrades  in  the  "  galleys."  The  board  of  directors 
were  compelled  to  fight  him  constantly  in  order  to 
keep  him  from  putting  through  his  plan  to  raise  all 
wages,  and  there  came  near  to  being  a  catastrophe 
when  they  voted  down  his  ridiculous  scheme  for  pro 
viding  fresh  air  for  the  lungs  of  the  workers  in  the 
"  pen."  He  made  certain  comparisons  in  which 

Russia  was  frequently  mentioned  and  three  or  four 

186 


THINKS  OF  BECOMING  AN  ANGEL     187 

of  the  directors  afterwards  referred  to  him  as  an 
"  undignified  little  ass." 

But  now  he  hesitated  about  going  to  the  bank. 
Somehow,  he  could  not  quite  bring  himself  to  the 
point  of  encountering  the  president  of  the  bank  in 
his  capacity  as  head  of  the  great  and  reputable  con 
cern.  Never  again  would  he  be  able  to  look  upon 
Sydney  Force  as  the  right  man  for  the  place.  He 
could  only  think  of  him  as  "  a  man  called  Hinman." 
Being  a  charitable  soul,  however,  he  stood  ready  to 
overlook  much  that  was  obnoxious  in  the  character  of 
the  man  if  the  time  ever  came  when  he  openly  re 
vealed  a  contrite  heart  and  a  disposition  to  make 
amends  in  the  proper  way. 

"  To  be  gone  for  three  months,  I  hear,"  said  Flan 
ders,  looking  at  his  watch.  "  I  say,  Mr.  Bingle, 
doesn't  it  seem  to  you  that  the  afternoon  lessons  are 
a  little  longer  than  usual?  It's  five  o'clock.  I  have 
to  be  back  in  town  before  half-past  six." 

Mr.  Bingle  did  not  reply.  A  sudden  cause  for  re 
joicing  had  sprung  up,  occupying  all  of  his  atten 
tion.  For  three  months,  at  least,  he  would  be  free 
to  call  Kathleen  his  own,  and  for  three  months  he 
could  go  to  the  bank  without  being  disturbed  by  the 
workings  of  his  own  conscience  —  for  after  all,  a 
visible  Mr.  Force  would  be  something  of  a  tax  upon 
his  sense  of  honour. 

Flanders  waited  for  a  moment  and  then  began 
winding  his  watch. 

"  Ahem !  "  he  coughed. 


188  MR.  BINGLE 

"  News  to  me,"  repeated  Mr.  Bingle,  rising  above 
his  reflections. 

"  By  the  way,  sir,  it  may  interest  you  to  know 
that  I'm  getting  along  nicely  with  the  play." 

"  Good !  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  They  tell  me  there 
is  a  great  deal  of  money  to  be  made  out  of  a  good 
play." 

"  There's  a  lot  to  be  made  out  of  a  successful  play. 
It  doesn't  follow  that  it  has  to  be  a  good  one,  you 
know,"  said  Flanders,  didactically.  "  I  am  terribly 
keen  on  finishing  it  and  getting  a  production  as  soon 
as  possible.  It  means  a  —  well,  you  know  what  it 
means  to  me,  sir.  These  managers  are  a  rum  lot. 
Four-fifths  of  them  don't  know  a  good  play  from  a 
bad  one.  I  suppose  I'll  have  a  hard  time  placing  it, 
because  I  don't  believe  it  will  be  bad  enough  at  the 
outset  for  them  to  accept  it  on  sight.  I  understand 
it  is  a  theory  among  managers  that  if  a  play  is  un 
speakably  bad  they  can  hire  some  one  else  to  rewrite 
it  from  beginning  to  end,  and  make  a  success  of  it. 
Adversely,  if  it  should  happen  to  be  a  good  play, 
they  don't  know  what  it's  all  about  and  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"  I'm  sure  your  play  will  be  a  dandy,"  said  Mr. 
Bingle  warmly.  "  The  plot  is  tip-top.  Even  a 
manager  ought  to  be  able  to  tell  what  it's  all 
about." 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  much  I  appreciate  your 
kindness  in  listening  to  all  I've  had  to  say  about  the 
piece.  I'm  afraid  I've  bored  you  terribly." 


THINKS  OF  BECOMING  AN  ANGEL     189 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all.  I've  always  been  inter 
ested  in  the  theatre.  I'll  confess  to  you  that  I've 
always  wanted  to  know  a  real  actor  or  actress.  Now 
that  our  dear  Miss  Fairweather  turns  out  to  be  — 
er  —  to  have  been  on  the  stage  for  some  time  before 
she  came  to  us,  my  interest  in  the  profession  is  in 
tensified.  I  really  am  quite  thrilled  over  knowing  a 
real,  flesh  and  blood  actress." 

"  We  were  a  little  afraid  you  wouldn't  look  at  it 
so  generously,  Mr.  Bingle." 

"  I  know.  Miss  Fairweather  has  told  us  of  her 
sleepless  nights,  worrying  over  the  supposed  decep 
tion.  She  might  just  as  well  have  slept  comfort 
ably,  Dick.  She  may  have  been  a  bad  actress  but 
she  wasn't  a  bad  woman,  so  no  harm  has  come  of  it. 
Do  you  think  she  is  qualified  to  play  the  leading  part 
in  your  show?  It  strikes  me  that  it  is  a  very  diffi 
cult  part.  I  should  think  it  would  take  some  one 
like  Modjeska  or  Julia  Marlowe  to  play  it  properly. 
She  is  — " 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Bingle,  Amy  is  just  the  woman  for 
the  part  of  Deborah.  I  am  sure  of  it  —  positively. 
The  trouble  is  that  I'm  afraid  the  managers  will 
insist  on  putting  in  somebody  with  a  name  —  like 
Ethel  Barrymore  or  Nazimova  or  Maude  Adams. 
That's  going  to  be  the  rub,  you  see.  Of  course,  I 
shall  not  give  in  to  them.  It  is  Amy  Colgate  or  no 
one."  He  looked  very  rueful  despite  this  firm  and 
dauntless  speech. 

Mr.  Bingle  stared  at  the  fire  for  a  few  minutes, 


190  MR.  SINGLE 

his  lips  pursed  in  an  expression  that  spoke  of  calcu 
lation. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  Dick,"  he  said  at  last ; 
"  thinking  very  seriously  of  taking  a  little  flyer  in 
the  —  er  —  theatrical  business."  Immediately  upon 
uttering  this;  astonishing  remark  he  became  very  red 
in  the  face  and  shifted  his  gaze  to  the  remote  upper 
left-hand  corner  of  the  room. 

Figuratively  speaking,  Mr.  Flanders  fell  upon  his 
neck.  Inside  of  thirty  minutes,  Mr.  Thomas  Sin 
gleton  B ingle  was  in  a  position  to  regard  himself  as 
a  producing  manager  and  Miss  Amy  Colgate,  one  of 
America's  most  promising  young  leading  women,  was 
on  her  way  to  become  a  star,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
ascendency  of  Richard  Sheridan  Flanders  as  a  play 
wright.  The  difficulties  were  all  swept  away.  A 
Broadway  theatre  was  no  longer  a  hope;  it  was  a 
certainty.  Mr.  Bingle  could  buy  all  the  "  time  "  he 
wanted  in  any  house  along  the  Great  White  Way. 
It  wouldn't  be  necessary  to  squabble  over  the  rela 
tive  drawing  powers  of  Ethel  Barrymore  or  Maude 
Adams,  nor  was  it  anybody's  business  who  Amy  Col 
gate  was  or  where  she  came  from  —  to  use  the  words 
of  the  elated  dramatist  —  and  it  didn't  make  a  bit 
of  difference  whether  the  second  week's  "  gross  "  was 
smaller  than  the  first.  Mr.  Bingle  was  back  of  the 
play  and  that  settled  everything. 

"  I  have  great  faith  in  the  play,"  admitted  Mr. 
Flanders,  with  becoming  modesty. 

"  So  have  I,"  agreed  Mr.  Bingle  enthusiastically. 


THINKS  OF  BECOMING  AN  ANGEL     191 

He  had  been  dazed,  yet  vastly  impressed  by  the  un 
intelligible  phraseology  of  the  stage  as  it  ran  from 
the  glib  lips  of  the  eager  young  man.  He  was  flat 
tered  by  Dick's  assumption  that  he  was  perfectly 
familiar  with  the  theatre  from  box  office  to  "  grid 
iron." 

"  And  what's  more,"  added  the  playwright,  "  I 
have  faith  in  Amy." 

By  this  time  Mr.  Bingle  had  unbounded  faith  in 
the  young  actress,  and  said  so  with  considerable 
fervour.  Whereupon,  the  jubilant  author  suggested 
that  they  send  for  Miss  Fairweather  at  once  and 
acquaint  her  with  the  glorious  news.  But  Mr.  Bingle 
shook  his  head. 

"  No,  we  can't  do  that,"  he  said,  looking  at  his 
watch.  "  Lessons  are  not  over  yet.  Ten  minutes 
left,  I  see.  She's  still  a  governess,  Dick.  One  job 
at  a  time.  The  stage  can  wait." 

Mr.  Flanders  sighed  but  smiled.  Then,  for  no 
especial  reason,  he  slapped  Mr.  Bingle  heartily  on 
the  back  and  laughed  aloud.  He  had  no  words  to 
express  his  accumulative  joy,  so  he  laughed  —  and 
there  were  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  We'll  have  the  best  production  that  money  can 
buy,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  swelling  ever  so  slightly,  after 
the  manner  of  practised  managers.  "  An  all-star 
cast,  and  scenery  by  Sargent." 

Later  on,  in  the  privacy  of  Miss  Fairweather's 
schoolroom,  the  author  and  the  star  discussed  the 
great  sensation,  and  you  may  be  surprised  to  learn 


192  MR.  BINGLE 

that  there  were  two  sides  to  the  discussion.  Miss 
Fairweather  was  a  sensible  young  woman,  although 
amazingly  beautiful,  and  she  took  a  most  extraor 
dinary  view  of  the  situation. 

"  It  isn't  right,  it  isn't  fair,  it  isn't  playing  the 
game,  Dick,"  she  protested,  resolutely  releasing  her 
self  from  his  embrace  after  listening  for  a  long  time, 
with  throbbing  heart,  to  his  song  of  triumph. 
"  Poor,  dear  Mr.  Bingle !  He  is  doing  it  out  of  the 
goodness  of  his  heart.  I  am  not  a  *  star '  and  I  am 
not  '  big '  enough  to  be  featured  on  Broadway.  It 
would  be  a  sin  to  let  him  put  his  money  into  a  certain 
failure.  I  will  not  listen  to  you,  Dick.  Much  as  I 
love  you,  I  still  have  a  conscience  and  it  will  not 
allow  me  to  sacrifice  that  simple  soul.  Why,  don't 
you  know  what  would  happen?  The  critics  would 
go  into  convulsions  over  the  attempt  to  foist  a  silly 
little—" 

"  But,  hang  it  all,  Amy,  you've  got  it  in  you  to 
surprise  New  York,"  he  cried  earnestly.  "  I  know 
you  can  do  it.  Good  Lord,  I  wouldn't  take  a  nickel 
of  Mr.  B ingle's  money  if  I  didn't  believe  you  could 
make  good.  Why,  I've  got  a  conscience  too,  much 
as  the  confession  may  surprise  you." 

"  You  are  carried  away  by  excitement,  dear,"  she 
said  softly,  patting  his  cheek.  "  Just  stop  and 
think  for  a  minute.  Who  am  I?  What  have  I  ever 
done  ?  Where  have  I  — " 

"  But  can't  you  see  that  the  play  will  be  the  mak 
ing  of  you?  The  part  is  a  wonder.  You  can't  help 


THINKS  OF  BECOMING  AN  ANGEL     193 

creating  a  sensation  with  such  a  role  to  carry  you 
along.  Now,  I'm  not  conceited  —  not  a  bit  of  it  — • 
but  I  do  know  this  much:  this  play  and  this  part 
are  going  to  turn  Broadway  upside  down." 

"  I  could  agree  with  you,  dear,  if  you  had  some 
one  like  —  oh,  well,  if  you  won't  allow  me  to  talk,  I 
—  please  let  me  say  it,  Dick."  His  kisses  had  played 
havoc  with  her  ideas.  "  Now,  do  listen  to  me !  It's 
all  very  well  to  say  that  I  am  qualified  to  turn  Broad 
way  — " 

"  Of  course,  we  don't  have  to  (  star '  you  at  the 
outset,"  he  interrupted,  suddenly  resorting  to  reason. 
"  We  needn't  feature  any  one  at  the  start.  If  you 
make  good  —  and  I  know  you  will  —  why,  the  papers 
will  see  to  it  that  your  name  goes  up  in  electric  lights 
over  the  little  old  front  door.  I  daresay  you're 
right  in  going  slow,  dear.  I  am  so  excited  that  I 
don't  know  whether  I'm  on  my  feet  or  my  head. 
Now,  let's  talk  it  over  calmly,  sensibly,  sanely.  The 
upshot  of  the  whole  matter  is  this :  my  play  is  to  be 
produced  and  you  are  to  play  the  part  of  Deborah. 
We  don't  have  to  ask  any  beastly  theatrical  mana 
ger  to  read  the  play  and  we  don't  have  to  go  down 
on  our  knees  to  get  a  job  for  you.  Mr.  Bingle  is 
going  into  this  thing  with  his  eyes  open.  He  tells 
me  he  has  faith  in  the  play  and  in  you,  and  as  he 
happens  to  have  a  great  many  millions  of  dollars  we 
ought  to  have  faith  in  him.  He  will  put  the  piece  on 
in  bang-up  style.  He  realises  that  there  is  a  chance 
for  failure,  but  so  does  every  man  who  puts  his  money 


194  MR.  BINGLE 

into  a  theatrical  production.  It  is  part  of  the  game. 
It  is  up  to  you  and  me,  Amy,  to  see  that  Mr.  Bingle 
comes  out  of  this  thing  a  winner.  He — " 

"  Wait,  dear,"  she  interrupted,  her  fair  brow- 
clouding.  "What  of  Mrs.  Bingle?  What  will  she 
say  to  this  exploit  of  his  ?  " 

"  Isn't  he  the  master  in  his  own  house  ?  "  demanded 
Dick  loftily.  Still,  a  spark  of  dismay  leaped  into  his 
eyes. 

"  He  is  a  good  man,  Dick.  He  never  permits 
himself  to  forget  that  she  is  its  mistress.  She  will 
have  something  to  say  on  the  subject,  you  may  be 
sure  of  that.  I  am  not  quite  certain  that  she  ap 
proves  of  the  stage,  and  I've  heard  her  say  that 
actresses  must  be  dreadful  creatures  if  one  believes 
all  one  hears  about  them  smoking  cigarettes  and 
stealing  young  boys  out  of  college.  That  was  before 
she  knew  of  my  late  lamented  past.  She  has  been 
perfectly  lovely  to  me  since,  however,  and  I  believe 
she  is  pleasantly  excited  by  my  '  gossip  of  the  foot 
lights,'  as  she  calls  it.  She  asked  me  the  other  day 
if  it  is  true  that  chorus  girls  are  more  sinned  against 
than  sinning." 

"She  did?"  he  cried,  grinning.  "And  what  did 
you  say  to  that?  " 

"  I  said  it  was  quite  true,"  she  said  flatly. 

"  Well,  it  won't  hurt  her  to  think  that  they'd  all 
be  angels  if  they  had  their  way  about  it.  Now,  let's 
get  back  to  facts,  dear.  I've  told  Mr.  Bingle  that 
the  play  can  be  finished  in  a  month  or  six  weeks. 


THINKS  OF  BECOMING  AN  ANGEL     195 

He  is  for  putting  it  on  at  once,  but  I  don't  believe 
it's  good  business  to  risk  trying  it  out  at  the  tail 
end  of  a  very  bad  season.  Things  are  bound  to  be 
better  in  the  fall.  My  idea  is  to  begin  rehearsals 
late  in  the  summer,  play  a  couple  of  weeks  in  the  tank 
towns  to  whip  the  thing  into  shape,  and  then  go  into 
New  York  some  time  in  September.  I'll  begin  get 
ting  a  cast  together  this  spring  —  none  but  the  best, 
you  understand  —  and  that  will  give  us  a  fair  chance 
to  go  into  Broadway  with  a  corking  production. 
Who  do  you  consider  to  be  the  best  leading  man  in 
the  business  to-day?  " 

Now,  Mr.  Bingle  was  having  quite  a  time  of  it 
with  the  mistress  of  the  house.  In  his  new-found 
enthusiasm,  he  went  to  her  at  once  with  the  word  that 
he  had  decided  to  make  a  subrosa  invasion  of  the 
mimic  world  to  help  out  poor  Flanders  and  to  lay 
his  hand  against  the  prejudice  and  ignorance  that 
seemed  to  be  throttling  the  theatre. 

She  listened  to  him  in  speechless  amazement,  not 
quite  sure  of  her  ears. 

"  Of  course,  I  sha'n't  permit  my  name  to  be  men 
tioned  in  the  matter,"  he  explained  hastily.  "  That 
would  be  foolish,  my  dear.  I  shall  have  it  clearly 
understood  that  Dick  is  backing  the  thing  himself 
—  on  borrowed  money,  if  needs  be.  Now,  you  see, 
Miss  Colgate  is  a  very  clever  young  leading  woman 
and—" 

"Leading  woman?"  queried  Mrs.  Bingle,  blink 
ing.  She  had  laid  down  her  embroidery. 


196  MR.  BINGLE 

"  Stage  expression,"  said  he  loftily.  "  It  means 
one  who  plays  —  er  —  plays  leads.  Ahem !  That  is 
to  say,  one  who  takes  a  principal  part  in  the  show. 
Miss  Colgate  is  regarded  as  — " 

It  was  then  that  Mrs.  Bingle  found  her  voice. 
After  ten  minutes,  he  succeeded  in  changing  the  sub 
ject.  In  all  his  acquaintance  with  his  wife,  he  had 
never  known  her  to  be  so  scathing  in  the  matter  of 
words.  She  succeeded  in  causing  him  to  feel  ex 
tremely  small  and  sheepish,  for  after  all  there  was  a 
world  of  justice  and  common  sense  in  what  she  had 
to  say  concerning  his  inspired  offer  to  engage  in  an 
enterprise  that  was  as  far  from  his  understanding  as 
the  North  Pole  is  from  the  South. 

"  But,"  he  managed  to  insert,  weakly,  "  it's 
only  to  help  Dick  out,  to  encourage  genius, 
to—" 

"  Genius  your  Granny !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Don't 
you  suppose  that  these  regular  theatre  managers 
know  genius  when  they  see  it?  " 

"  Some  of  the  best  plays  ever  written  have  never 
seen  the  light  of  day,"  said  he. 

"  Then  how  does  any  one  know  that  they  were 
good  plays,  if  they  never  were  played?  Tell  me 
that,  Thomas  Bingle." 

"  My  dear,  I  am  only  repeating  what  history 
tells  — " 

"  Well,  answer  this  question  then :  what  do  you 
know  about  a  play?  Where  do  you  get  your  wonder 
ful  knowledge  of  dramatic  composition?  " 


THINKS  OF  BECOMING  AN  ANGEL     197 

"  I  think  you  will  acknowledge  that  I  know  my 
Shakespeare  pretty  well,"  he  said  stiffly. 

"  But  Richard  Flanders  isn't  Shakespeare, 
Thomas.  He's  a  reporter  on  a  daily  paper.  Now, 
for  goodness'  sake,  be  sensible.  Don't  make  a  fool 
of  yourself,  dear.  I  know  what's  best  for  you. 
I  —  " 

"  I'm  merely  proposing  to  -finance  the  thing, 
Mary,"  he  argued.  "  I'm  doing  it  because  I  like 
Dick  and  I  want  him  to  succeed.  I  do  not  set  my 
self  up  as  a  real  manager.  I'm  what  Dick  calls  an 
*  angel.'  He  says  — " 

"  Well  of  all  the  —  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  big, 
strapping  fellow  called  you  an  angel?  " 

"  Theatrical  expression,"  he  said. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  been  surprised  if  you'd  said 
that  Miss  Fairweather  called  you  an  angel,  but  when 
it  comes  to  —  Oh,  dear,  what  an  awful  thing  for  one 
man  to  call  another ! " 

"  Now,  see  here,  Mary,  you  don't  under  — " 

But  she  interrupted  him  again  and  he  sat  back 
limply  to  wait  for  an  opportunity  to  get  in  the  state 
ment  that  he  wanted  most  of  all  to  make  to  her  — 
which,  when  the  time  came  for  him  to  speak,  was 
this: 

"  Well,  well,  dear,  we'll  let  the  matter  rest  for  a 
day  or  two.  I  only  thought  you'd  be  interested  in 
the  experiment  —  you  and  I  together,  you  know  — 
something  new  and  thrilling.  We  could  have  a  lot 
of  fun  planning  and  secretly  watching  the  play  grow 


198  MR.  BINGLE 

from  day  to  day,  and  discussing  costumes  and 
scenery,  and  meeting  real  actors  and  actresses,  and 
seeing  the  inside  workings  of  the  stage,  and  the  green 
room  —  and  the  dressing-rooms,  and  all  that,  you 
know.  It's  something  we  used  to  talk  about  and 
wonder  about,  don't  you  remember?  Remember  how 
we  used  to  sit  up  in  the  balcony  and  wonder  what  was 
really  happening  behind  the — " 

"  Indeed  I  do !  "  she  cried,  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 
"  I've  always  wanted  to  have  a  peep  behind  the  scenes 
and  — "  She  had  the  good  sense  to  stop  before  she 
compromised  herself  beyond  recovery  —  but  she 
looked  extremely  guilty. 

"We'll  talk  it  over  to-morrow,"  said  he.  "It 
might  be  a  relief  to  us  to  have  something  like  this  to 
occupy  our  thoughts  in  case  we  —  we  actually  have 
to  give  Kathleen  up  to  —  By  the  way,  Dick  tells 
me  he  is  sailing  for  Europe  to-morrow.  I  wonder 
what  it  means." 

"Mr.  Force?     Is  she  going  with  him?" 

"  Yes.     For  three  months." 

She  reflected.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  it  means,  Tom," 
she  said,  leaning  forward  to  lay  her  hand  upon  his 
knee.  "  He  has  told  her  everything." 

"  I  don't  believe  it !  " 

"  You  mark  my  words,  Tom.  He  has  told  her. 
They  are  going  abroad  to  thrash  it  all  out,  that's 
the  long  and  short  of  it." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  wide-eyed  and  sober. 
Long  afterward  he  came  out  of  his  reverie,  and  said : 


THINKS  OF  BECOMING  AN  ANGEL     199 

"  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  Swanson  spoke  to  me  yes 
terday  about  his  sister's  latest.  I  was  awfully  sorry 
for  the  poor  chap,  my  dear.  He  seemed  most  anx 
ious  to  see  the  child  comfortably  settled.  His  sis 
ter  is  a  scrub-woman  in  the  Metropolitan  Life  Build 
ing.  It  appears  that  she  has  been  supplying  fam 
ilies  with  children  for  the  past  ten  or  twelve  years. 
Her  husband  is  a  most  unfeeling  brute.  He  says 
that  the  babies  interfere  with  her  work,  and  so  she 
has  to  either  give  them  up  altogether  or  let  the 
charity  institutions  take  care  of  'em  for  her.  She 
goes  on  faithfully  having  'em  every  year,  and  he  goes 
on  objecting  to  them.  Swanson  says  she  has  man 
aged  to  keep  two  of  the  older  ones,  but  the  last  five 
or  six  she  has  been  obliged  to  dispose  of.  Now,  this 
new  one  is  a  bright  little  thing,  he  says  —  quite  the 
flower  of  the  flock.  The  woman's  husband,  it  seems, 
has  been  out  of  work  for  seven  years,  and  curses 
dreadfully  about  the  child.  The  poor  woman  spoke 
to  Swanson  last  week,  asking  him  to  see  if  we 
wouldn't  take  this  one  to  raise.  Swanson  is  sure 
that  if  we  took  it  now  we  could  be  practically  cer 
tain  that  it  would  never  acquire  the  Swedish  dia 
lect.  Of  course  — " 

"  You  did  not  give  him  any  encouragement,  did 
you,  Tom?  "  she  cried  sharply. 

"  Well,  not  —  er  —  exactly,"  he  said,  looking 
away. 

"Well,  don't!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  know  I 
have  my  heart  set  on  having  a  French  baby  next." 


200  MR.  BINGLE 

"  So  you  have,"  he  said  brightly.  "  I'll  not  for 
get  it,  my  dear.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  spoke  to 
Rouquin,  our  foreign  exchange  manager,  about  it  not 
long  ago.  He  is  quite  French,  my  dear.  He  says 
there  will  be  no  trouble  about  it.  It  will  be  no  trick 
at  all  to  get  a  French  baby.  He  says  he  already 
knows  of  a  half-dozen  actual  descendants  of  the 
nobility,  aged  from  one  year  up  to  ten,  any  one  of 
which  we  can  call  our  own  by  simply  saying  the 
word." 

"  He  shall  be  called  Richelieu.  Dick  for  short," 
mused  Mrs  B ingle. 

"  I  thought  we  contemplated  a  girl,"  said  he. 

"  It  is  always  possible  for  us  to  change  our  minds, 
isn't  it,  Tom?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  dear.  We'll  have  a  boy  if  you 
like.  In  a  pinch,  we  can  always  change  the  gender  at 
the  last  minute.  Let's  not  give  it  another  thought. 
I'll  take  it  up  with  Rouquin  the  first  time  I'm  in  town. 
As  for  Swanson's  sister's  child  —  well,  never  mind. 
We  sha'n't  have  it.  He  says  its  name  is  Ole  at  pres 
ent  but  I  suppose  it  could  be  called  Richelieu  if  taken 
in  time.  Still  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  I've 
been  thinking  lately,  my  dear,  that  we  ought  to  call 
our  next  boy  Joseph  —  after  his  grand-uncle,  don't 
you  see.  We  owe  that  much  to  poor  old  Uncle  Joe. 
Will  you  bear  it  in  mind?  " 

"  We  could  call  the  next  one  Josephine,"  she  said. 

He  grinned.  "  Uncle  Joe  would  turn  over  in  his 
grave,"  said  he. 


THINKS  OF  BECOMING  AN  ANGEL     201 

That  evening  Mr.  Force  telephoned  to  Seawood. 

"  That  you,  Bingle?  "  came  in  rather  muffled  tones 
over  the  wire. 

"  Yes,  this  is  Mr.  Bingle." 

"  This  is  Force.  We  are  sailing  to-morrow 
for—" 

"  I  can't  hear  you.  Stand  a  little  closer  to  the 
'phone,  please." 

"  I  say  we  are  sailing  to-morrow  for  Europe.  I'm 
standing  close  to  it,  Bingle.  There's  some  one  in 
the  next  booth.  I  can't  yell,  you  know.  I  — " 

"  Where  are  you?  " 

"  At  the  Plaza.  I  just  wanted  to  tell  you  that 
I've  fixed  everything  up  with  the  detective  agency. 
Not  a  word  of  that  little  matter  will  ever  become 
public.  Their  lips  have  been  sealed." 

Mr.  Bingle's  heart  swelled.  "  Do  you  mean  that 
the  matter  is  —  er  —  permanently  closed?  Are  you 
going  to  let  me  keep  her?  " 

"  Certainly  not!  What  kind  of  a  father  do  you 
think  I  am?  Now  I'll  tell  you  what  I  want  you  to 
do.  I  want  you  to  be  particularly  careful  about 
that  child  while  I'm  away.  Don't  let  anything  hap 
pen  to  her.  Take  the  best  of  care  of  her,  Bingle. 
I  shall  hold  you  personally  responsible.  And  see 
here,  there's  another  point  on  which  I  want  to  be  es 
pecially  firm.  I  don't  want  her  to  be  thrown  with 
the  other  children  any  more  than  can  be  helped. 
I_  What's  that?" 

"  Nothing.     Go  on." 


202  MR.  BINGLE 

"  Some  of  those  kids  of  yours  are  not  precisely 
what  I  would  call  thoroughbred.  See  what  I  mean? 
No  reflection,  of  course,  Bingle.  I  wouldn't  say  this 
if  they  were  your  own,  understand,  but  —  well, 
they're  not,  so  that's  all  there  is  to  it.  I  shall  have 
to  ask  you  to  engage  a  special  companion  for  Kath 
leen,  and  I  have  arranged  with  a  Madame  Dufresne 
to—" 

"See  here,  Force,  I—" 

" —  to  call  on  you  this  week.  She  is  an  excellent 
woman,  refined  and  a  lady  of  very  good  family  in 
France.  She  is  a  friend  of  Rouquin's,  in  the  bank. 
He  knew  the  family  in  Paris.  I  took  the  liberty  of 
telling  him  that  you  wanted  to  engage  a  French 
lady  to  act  as  companion  to  your  eldest  child.  I 
trust  you  will  see  to  it  that  Kathleen  is  not  allowed 
to  romp  about  with  the  rest  of  those  —  er  —  the 
other  children.  This  Madame  Dufresne  will  — 
What's  that?" 

Mr.  Bingle  had  recovered  his  breath.  His  voice 
was  high  and  shrill  with  indignation. 

"  You  will  oblige  me,  Force,  by  permitting  me  to 
run  my  household  as  I  see  fit.  If  this  Madame 
What's-her-name  comes  out  here  to  see  me,  I  shall 
pack  her  off  to  town  again  so  quick  her  head  will 
swim.  We  have  brought  Kathleen  up  as  if  she  was 
our  own  child,  sir,  and  I  don't  care  to  have  any  sug 
gestions  from  you,  sir.  What's  more,  I  must  say 
—  although  it's  against  the  rules  of  the  telephone 
company  —  you  are  a  damned  fine  man  to  be  giving 


THINKS  OF  BECOMING  AN  ANGEL     203 

advice  to  me  about  the  raising  of  your  child. 
You—" 

"  Sh !  For  heaven's  sake,  Bingle,  don't  shout 
like  that!  Be  careful,  mant" 

"  Well,  you  leave  Kathleen  to  me,  that's  all  I've 
got  to  say.  She  shall  play  with  the  rest  of  the  chil 
dren  as  much  as  she  likes,  Force.  So  far  as  we  are 
concerned,  she's  no  better  than  the  rest  of  them, 
understand  that,  sir.  She  isn't  going  to  be  contami 
nated  a  darned  bit  more  than  she  was  before  you 
discovered  that  she  was  yours.  And,  as  for  that, 
she  isn't  yours  until  I  see  fit  to  give  her  up.  Under 
stand  that,  too.  Now,  if  —  wait  a  minute !  I'm 
still  talking.  Now,  if  you  think  you  can  give  me 
any  pointers  on  how  to  bring  up  children  I  want  to 
say  to  you  that  you  are  barking  up  the  wrong  tree. 
Don't  you  dare  to  send  that  woman  here,  and  don't 
you  dare  to  dictate  to  me  how  — " 

"  Wait  a  minute,  wait  a  minute,  Bingle,"  came  Mr. 
Force's  agitated  voice  through  the  transmitter. 
"  For  heaven's  sake,  don't  fly  off  the  handle  like  this. 
I  —  I  thought  I  was  acting  for  the  best  interests  of 
every  one.  I  was  only  trying  to  help  you  out  in  — " 

"  I  don't  need  any  help,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  crisply. 
"  Have  you  told  your  wife?  " 

"Yes,  I  have,"  said  Force.  "  That's  —  that's 
why  we  are  going  abroad  for  a  few  months.  She  — " 

"  Mrs.  Bingle  was  right,  then.  She  usually  is. 
What  is  her  attitude?" 

"  Devilish  bad,  Bingle  —  devilish,  that's  all  I  can 


204  MR.  BINGLE 

say.  I  can't  talk  to  you  over  the  telephone  about  it. 
I'll  —  I'll  write  you  from  Paris.  I'm  —  I'm  work 
ing  with  her,  that's  all  I  can  do  at  present.  I  believe 
she'll  come  around  all  right  in  the  end.  I'm  sure  she 
will.  I'll  — I'll  let  you  know." 

"  Says  she  won't  have  the  brat  in  her  house,  is  that 
it  ?  "  said  Mr.  Bingle,  with  a  queer  rasp  in  his  voice. 

"  I  can't  talk  to  you  over  the  telephone.  Didn't 
you  hear  me  say  so  a  minute  ago  ?  " 

"You  can  say  yes  or  no,  can't  you?" 

"  She's  pretty  much  upset  over  the  business." 

"  Speak  up !     I  can't  hear  you." 

"  I'll  drop  you  a  line  in  the  morning.  Now,  Bin 
gle,  you  will  take  good  care  of  the  child,  won't  you. 
She—" 

"  I  shall  take  good  care  of  all  of  them,  Force." 

"  And  now  about  this  Madame  Du  — " 

"  She  is  out  of  the  question,  Force.     Good  night !  " 

"  Just  as  you  say,  old  man.  I  sha'n't  insist  if  you 
are  opposed  to — " 

"Goodnight!" 

"  But  I  will  feel  a  great  deal  easier  in  my  mind  if 
she  isn't  allowed  to  come  in  contact  with  the  rest  — " 

Mr.  Bingle  hung  up  the  receiver. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A    TIMELY    LESSON    IN    LOVE 

THE  Forces  returned  from  Europe  late  in  February. 
They  cut  their  visit  short  because  Mr.  Force's  ju 
bilant  cablegram  to  Mr.  Bingle  drew  from  its  re 
cipient  a  reply  so  curt  and  effective  that  there  could 
be  no  mistaking  his  stand  in  the  matter  of  Kathleen. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  first  week  in  February,  Mr. 
Force  cabled :  "  Everything  smoothed  out.  Re- 
joice.  Wife  keen  about  K.  Insists  on  having  her 
with  us  over  here.  Send  her  over  at  once  with  Du- 
fresne.  Never  was  so  happy  in  my  life.  Force." 

The  reply  was :  "  Come  and  get  her,  but  bring 
your  wife  with  you.  Bingle." 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  trust  Force,"  said  Mr.  Bin 
gle  to  his  wife  as  they  discussed  the  banker's  mes 
sage.  "  Like  as  not  he  wants  to  get  the  child  over 
in  Europe  and  leave  her  there  with  strangers  until 
she  grows  up,  or  something  of  the  sort.  What  proof 
have  we  that  he  has  told  his  wife?  How  do  we  know 
that  she  is  keen  about  Kathie?  She  never  has  been. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  brags  about  her  hatred  for 
children.  Openly  says  she  despises  'em.  Prefers 
her  dogs  and  cats,  and  all  such  rubbish  as  that.  No, 
sir,  Mary;  I  don't  pack  Kathie  off  with  a  strange 

Frenchwoman,  destined  for  heaven  knows  what,  and 

205 


206  MR.  BINGLE 

that's  all  there  is  to  it.  The  thing  looks  fishy  to 
me.  Maybe  it's,  a  plot  —  a  dark,  cruel  plot  to  get 
the  child  out  of  the  country.  If  he  wants  me  to  be 
lieve  that  Mrs.  Force  is  keen  about  Kathie,  she'll 
have  to  say  so  herself,  in  so  many  words,  and,  blame 
me,  Mary,  I  don't  believe  I'll  let  her  say  'em  by  tele 
graph  either." 

"  But  he  is  the  president  of  the  bank,  Thomas," 
said  Mrs.  Bingle,  as  if  that  were  all  that  was  neces 
sary  to  put  him  above  suspicion. 

"  I  am  not  dealing  with  the  president  of  the  bank, 
my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  stiffly.  "  I  am  dealing 
with  my  next  door  neighbour,  and  I  have  a  mighty 
poor  opinion  of  him.  The  boy  is  waiting.  I'll  just 
write  an  answer  to  his  cablegram  and  get  it  off  at 
once." 

The  day  after  they  landed  in  New  York,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Force  paid  a  formal  visit  to  the  Bingle  mansion. 
They  came  out  from  town  by  motor,  arriving  at  four 
in  the  afternoon.  Mr.  Bingle  was  expecting  them. 
They  had  telephoned,  saying  they  could  stay  but  a 
short  time  and  made  it  quite  clear  that  it  wouldn't 
be  necessary  to  serve  tea.  They  were  staying  in 
town  for  a  few  days  before  going  on  to  Florida. 

At  five  o'clock  they  motored  swiftly  away  from 
Seawood.  The  ordeal  was  over.  Kathleen  was  to 
go  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Force.  The  wife  of  a  "  man 
called  Hinman  "  was  to  mother  the  child  of  Agnes 
Glenn. 

It  was  to  be  very  simple  and  easy  for  the  Forces ; 


A  TIMELY  LESSON  IN  LOVE         207 

like  their  kind,  they  left  the  hard  part  of  the  bargain 
to  Mr.  Bingle.  He  was  to  tell  Kathleen  of  the  great 
change  that  was  soon  to  take  place  in  her  life.  He 
was  to  tell  the  happy,  loving  little  girl  that  she  was 
no  longer  to  call  him  daddy,  that  she  was  to  go  and 
live  with  the  man  she  feared  and  disliked.  That  was 
the  part  of  the  bargain  left  to  the  one  who  loved  her 
best  of  all  and  who  would  not  have  given  her  an  in 
stant's  pain  for  all  the  world.  He  was  to  deliver 
her,  with  scant  excuse  or  explanation,  into  the  hands 
of  strangers  —  cold,  unfeeling  strangers.  It  would 
be  the  same  as  saying  to  the  child  that  he  did  not 
care  for  her  any  longer,  that  he  did  not  love  her, 
that  he  was  willing  to  give  her  up  to  Mr.  Force  with 
out  so  much  as  a  pang  of  regret.  For  he  could  not 
tell  her  the  truth.  She  was  never  to  know  about  the 
carbolic  acid  and  the  days  of  starvation.  She  was 
only  to  know  that  Mr.  Force  was  to  be  her  daddy 
from  this  time  forward  and  that  Mr.  Bingle  could 
never  be  anything  more  to  her  than  Uncle. Tom. 

But  after  he  told  her,  he  cried.  .  .  .  Still,  they 
were  not  to  take  her  away  until  the  end  of  the  week, 
and  that  was  five  days  off. 

An  unsuspected  astuteness  in  the  character  of 
Thomas  Singleton  Bingle  reveals  itself  in  the  declara 
tion,  now  to  be  made  for  the  first  time  in  this  present 
history  of  the  man:  he  never  allowed  his  wards  to 
look  upon  themselves  as  his  own  children.  They  were 
taught  to  call  him  daddy  and  to  look  upon  him  as 
a  substitute  supplied  by  God  to  take  the  place  of  a 


208  MR.  BINGLE 

real  father,  and  by  the  same  token  Mrs.  B ingle  be 
came  mother  to  the  brood,  but  they  were  safe-guarded 
against  the  surprise  and  shock  of  future  revelations 
—  revelations  that  so  frequently  spoil  the  lives  of 
those  who  have  lived  in  happy  ignorance.  Mr.  Bin- 
gle,  gentle  soul  that  he  was,  had  the  heart  to  look 
ahead  in  this  pleasant  game  of  his.  He  saw  the 
cruelty  of  a  too  loving  deception.  He  foresaw  the 
desolating  results  of  a  too  great  faith  in  chance. 
So  his  children  were  taught  to  regard  him  in  the  light 
of  a  protector  who  was  satisfied  to  have  them  feel 
that  he  was  under  obligations  to  them  instead  of  the 
other  way  round.  It  was  his  j  oy  to  be  called  daddy, 
and  in  return  for  this  simple  tribute  he  lavished  upon 
them  all  the  love  and  tenderness  of  a  true  father  and 
a  great  deal  of  the  consideration  that  a  child  de 
serves,  but  seldom  gets,  from  its  own  pre-occupied 
and  self-satisfied  parent. 

Kathleen  knew  that  she  was  not  the  daughter  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingle.  She  had  always  known  that 
she  was  the  daughter  of  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hinman,  both 
deceased. 

In  the  case  of  Reginald  —  and,  in  a  way,  Harold 
also  —  there  was  some  uncertainty.  As  the  former 
advanced  in  years  and  characteristics,  it  became  more 
and  more  apparent  to  Mr.  Bingle  that  his  fifth-born 
was  not  of  Italian  descent,  despite  the  fact  that  the 
authorities  at  the  Foundlings'  Home  had  him  down 
on  the  records  as  the  offspring  of  a  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Vanesi,  lost  in  one  of  the  factory  fires  in  the  city  of 


A  TIMELY  LESSON  IN  LOVE         209 

Brooklyn.  Mr.  Bingle  was  convinced,  as  time  went 
on,  that  the  tags  on  certain  infants  had  been  acci 
dentally  misplaced  by  careless  attendants,  and  that 
Reginald's  nick-name,  bestowed  by  Frederick  and 
Wilberforce  in  their  frivolous  wisdom,  was  not  so  far 
out  of  the  way  as  it  might  have  seemed  if  he  had  not 
been  possessed  of  his  own  vague  misgivings.  They 
called  him  Abey.  As  for  Harold,  he  was  unmistak 
ably  Irish,  although  the  hospital  people  declared  that 
he  was  German  to  the  core  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bin 
gle  went  there  to  pick  out  a  healthy  Teuton  to  add 
to  their  collection.  They  were  positive  that  they 
wanted  a  German  baby;  nothing  else  would  do,  they 
announced  clearly  and  positively  to  the  superinten 
dent  in  charge  of  the  maternity  ward.  The  superin 
tendent  was  most  gracious  about  it.  She  said  they 
could  return  little  Fritz  if  he  didn't  come  up  to  the 
mark  in  every  particular.  What  more  could  a  Ger 
man  fancier  desire  than  a  child  whose  name  alone 
stood  for  all  that  one  could  possibly  seek  in  Teu 
tonic  research?  Fritz  Bumbleburg:  —  that  was  the 
infant's  name  and  his  father's  name  before  him. 
Surely  Mr.  Bingle  wouldn't  demand  anything  more 
German  than  that.  Moreover,  Fritz's  mother  was 
German-American  and  she  had  been  the  wife  of 
Fritz's  father  for  a  matter  of  five  years  or  more. 
Still,  in  spite  of  all  this,  Fritz  (re-christened  Harold 
while  he  was  still  too  young  to  raise  a  voice  in  pro 
test)  was  unmistakably  Irish,  or  at  least  part  Irish. 
It  is  also  worthy  of  note  that  Mrs.  Bumbleburg  ran 


210  MR.  BINGLE 

away  with  an  Irish  policeman  some  weeks  after  the 
infant  Fritz's  advent  into  the  world,  which  would 
go  to  show  that  the  mother,  at  any  rate,  had  Celtic 
inclinations  if.  nothing  more. 

Kathleen  took  it  very  hard  at  first.  She  was  in 
consolable  until  the  desperate  Bingle  began  to  dilate 
upon  the  wonders  of  Florida.  Miss  Fairweather 
was  called  in  to  corroborate  all  that  they  had  to  say 
about  the  gorgeousness  of  that  southern  fairyland, 
and  as  a  group  they  did  very  well  when  one  stops  to 
consider  that  not  one  of  them  had  ever  been  south 
of  Washington,  D.  C.  The  child  cheered  up  a  bit. 
She  began  to  take  some  interest  in  the  matter  of 
dress.  Following  that,  she  revealed  considerable  en 
thusiasm  over  the  prospect  of  going  south  in  a  private 
car  with  a  personal  maid  of  her  own,  and  could  have 
a  change  of  frock  twice  a  day  for  a  week  at  a  stretch, 
to  say  nothing  of  being  allowed  to  eat  in  the  public 
dining-car  if  it  pleased  her  to  do  so.  That  thing  of 
eating  in  the  dining-car  was  a  master-stroke  on  the 
part  of  Bingle.  It  was  the  greatest  inducement  he 
could  have  offered  to  the  child  in  support  of  the 
claim  that  she  ought  to  be  the  happiest  creature  on 
earth,  going  away  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Force  like  this. 

Frederick  and  Wilberf orce  openly  declared  —  in 
the  presence  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingle  —  that  you  bet 
they'd  go  in  a  minute  if  they  had  the  chance  to  see 
the  land  where  Melissa's  pirates  and  smugglers  did 
most  of  their  plundering  —  an  attitude  that  created 
an  unhappy  half-hour  for  Melissa  later  on  in  the  day. 


A  TIMELY  LESSON  IN  LOVE 

Any  one  else  but  Melissa  would  have  received  her 
walking-papers. 

The  frocks,  the  personal  maid,  the  prospect  of  the 
dining-car  and  the  assurance  that  it  wouldn't  be  nec 
essary  to  call  Mr.  Force  "  daddy  "  until  she  became 
a  little  more  accustomed  to  seeing  him  around, 
brought  Kathleen  to  a  proper  way  of  thinking.  She 
became  quite  eager  to  go ! 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  to  his  wife,  after  the 
storm,  "  I  fancy  we'd  better  make  an  appointment 
with  Rouquin  as  soon  as  possible.  I  am  really  quite 
enthusiastic,  my  dear,  over  that  idea  of  yours  to  have 
a  cute  little  French  baby.  The  sooner  we  get  it  the 
better,  I  say.  It  is  going  to  be  pretty  lonesome  for 
awhile.  Somehow  I  hope  we  find  one  that  cries  a 
good  deal.  It  would  cheer  us  up  considerably,  I'm 
sure,  if  we  had  something  like  that  to  annoy  us,  es 
pecially  at  night.  We  shall  probably  lie  awake  any 
how." 

Frederick  was  causing  them  no  little  anxiety.  The 
boy  wasn't  eating  well.  He  was  beginning  to  look  a 
bit  peaked.  Dr.  Fiddler  was  puzzled.  He  could  not 
discover  anything  wrong,  and  yet  could  not  account 
for  the  listlessness  that  had  come  over  the  lad  dur 
ing  the  past  few  weeks. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Frederick  was  in  love  —  quite 
desperately  in  love.  The  object  of  his  adoration 
was  the  beautiful  Miss  Fairweather.  No  doctor  in 
the  world  could  have  properly  diagnosed  the  young 
ster's  case,  for  the  simple  reason  that  Frederick's 


MR.  BINGLE 

disease  was  a  perfectly  healthy  one,  and  when  you 
confront  a  doctor  with  anything  in  the  nature  of 
health  you  stump  him  completely.  He  doesn't  know 
what  to  do  about  it.  Nevertheless,  Dr.  Fiddler  — 
being  a  great  man  and  entirely  ignorant  of  Fred 
erick's  complaint  —  gave  him  castor  oil. 

Now  this  same  Dr.  Fiddler  undoubtedly  had  been 
in  love  at  the  tender  age  of  twelve.  What  man  is 
there  to-day  who  was  not  desperately  afflicted  at  that 
age,  and  who  is  there  among  us  that  has  forgotten 
the  experience?  Who  is  there  among  us,  past  the 
age  of  thirty,  who  cannot  tell  without  an  instant's 
hesitation,  the  name  of  the  mature  young  lady  who 
first  assailed  his  susceptibilities?  Who  can  honestly 
say  that  he  doesn't  remember  the  school-teacher,  or 
the  choir-singer  who  taught  the  Sunday-school  class, 
or  the  lady  who  came  to  visit  mother  and  went  away 
engaged  to  a  friend  of  father's,  or  the  nurse  who 
queened  it  over  the  house  when  mother  was  ill  and 
who  devoted  entirely  too  much  time  to  the  new  baby  ? 
There  is  always  one  full-grown,  lamentably  old  young 
lady  in  the  life  of  every  boy,  and  her  name  is  imper 
ishable.  It  is  invariably  Miss  Somebody-or-other. 
No  man  can  recall  the  Christian  name  of  his  first 
love  for  the  very  good  reason  that  he  never  knew  it. 
The  universal  lady  is  always  Miss  So-and-so.  Even 
the  most  ardent  of  twelve-year-olds  never  forgets 
that  his  heart's  desire  is  a  lady  whose  years  demand 
the  most  respectful  consideration.  Dr.  Fiddler,  hav 
ing  loved  and  lost,  should  have  appreciated  the  ten- 


A  TIMELY  LESSON  IN  LOVE         213 

der  passion  that  took  away  Frederick's  appetite  and 
made  of  him  a  melancholy  sufferer.  What  Frederick 
needed  was  the  moral  support  of  a  physician  who 
would  recommend  and  supply  a  quick  and  deadly 
poison  with  which  Mr.  Richard  Flanders  could  be 
permanently  squashed. 

Melissa  was  his  only  friend  and  comforter.  The 
children,  and  the  servants  who  were  not  too  busily 
engaged  with  their  own  affairs,  openly  scoffed  at 
the  love-sick  young  gentleman.  Wilberforce  sus 
tained  a  bloody  nose  in  retaliation  and  Watson,  being 
a  special  offender,  met  with  a  painful  and  unac 
countable  accident  one  day  while  passing  between  the 
kitchen  and  the  milk-house.  A  full-sized  brick 
dropped  from  heaven  knows  where — (it  must  have 
come  from  heaven  judging  by  the  way  it  felt)  —  and 
as  Watson's  hat  happened  to  be  directly  in  the  path 
of  its  descent  the  unfortunate  footman  was  unable 
to  tease  Frederick  for  the  better  part  of  two  days 
immediately  thereafter  and  had  to  have  six  stitches 
taken  in  his  head  besides.  Oddly  enough,  the  only 
place  from  which  a  brick  was  found  to  be  missing  was 
in  the  walk  leading  to  the  stables,  and  Butts,  being 
a  thrifty  soul,  filled  up  the  vacant  spot  with  the 
heaven-sent  substitute,  having  found  on  investiga 
tion  that  it  fitted  the  vacuum  perfectly.  It  was  Me 
lissa  who  kept  Watson  from  taking  out  a  warrant 
for  young  Master  Frederick.  She  spoke  very 
sharply  to  the  damaged  footman  about  something 
that  had  completely  escaped  the  notice  of  Mr.  Bingle, 


MR.  BINGLE 

who,  being  no  smoker,  wouldn't  have  missed  them  if 
Watson  had  taken  a  whole  handful  of  cigars  a  day 
instead  of  two  or  three  twice  a  week  the  year  round. 

The  privileged  maid  had  read  love  stories  from  the 
time  she  was  ten  years  old  up  to  the  beginning  of 
her  affair  with  Diggs  the  butler.  The  pleasant  dis 
covery  that  the  mighty  Diggs  had  taken  a  shine  to 
her  quite  destroyed  all  of  her  interest  in  romance  as 
it  is  written.  She  was  not  long  in  finding  out  that 
the  people  who  write  love-stories  are  not  to  be  de 
pended  upon  for  accuracy  in  the  depiction  of  pas 
sion.  Diggs  gave  her  an  entirely  new  idea  of  manly 
devotion.  Instead  of  adhering  to  the  well-known 
and  well-preserved  formulas  set  down  by  the  fiction- 
ists  he  behaved  in  a  perfectly  astonishing  manner. 
He  became  acutely  bashful  and  apprehensive,  so  much 
so,  in  fact,  that  for  a  while  Melissa  imagined  that 
Mr.  Bingle  had  given  him  notice  because  of  the  mis 
tletoe  episode  on  Christmas  Eve.  The  poor  fellow 
seemed  to  be  dodging  her  all  the  time.  And  when 
she  came  upon  him  suddenly  or  unexpectedly  he  al 
ways  began  winding  his  watch  and  talking  about  the 
extraordinary  resemblance  she  bore  to  a  girl  he  had 
once  known  in  England.  The  shock,  therefore,  was 
tremendous  when  Diggs  asked  her  if  she  thought  she 
could  ever  learn  to  care  for  him  in  that  way.  It 
was  almost  a  week  before  Melissa  could  think  of 
an  answer  to  this  astonishing  question.  It  was 
«  yes." 

And  so,  having  but  recently  suffered  the  surprise 


A  TIMELY  LESSON  IN  LOVE        215 

of  her  life,  Melissa  rushed  to  the  succour  of  young 
Frederick.  She  whispered  words  of  encouragement 
into  the  ear  of  the  despairing  youngster,  and  urged 
him  to  stand  by  his  guns. 

"  You  never  can  tell  what  is  going  to  happen," 
she  said.  "  Look  at  me,  for  instance.  What  could 
have  been  more  miraculous  than  the  thing  that  hap 
pened  to  me,  Freddie  ?  Who  could  have  ever  dreamed 
of  Mr.  Diggs  falling  in  love  with  me?  An  important 
person  like  him  falling  heels  over  head  in  love  with 
the  likes  of  me!  Can  you  beat  it?  Well,  that's 
what  I  mean  when  I  say  you  never  can  tell.  You 
just  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,  Freddie  —  and  grow  a 
little,  of  course  —  and  it  wouldn't  surprise  me  in  the 
least  if  you  conquered  the  proud  Miss  Fairweather's 
haughty  heart.  Nothing  —  nothing  on  God's  earth 
would  surprise  me  now.  Go  in  and  win,  Freddie. 
Of  course,  she  is  about  twelve  years  older'n  you  are 
at  present,  but  as  time  goes  on  she'll  be  getting 
younger.  We  always  do.  By  the  time  you  are 
thirty  you  will  have  caught  up  to  her,  I  can  tell  you 
that.  Take  Mr.  Diggs,  for  instance;  he  thinks  I 
am  only  twenty-six.  He  says  it's  a  crime  for  a  man 
of  his  age  —  he's  thirty-seven  —  to  be  making  eyes 
at  a  soft  young  thing  like  me.  He  knows  I'm  only 
twenty-six,  but  what  he  don't  know  is  that  I  was 
born  nearly  ten  years  before  he  even  starts  to  count 
ing.  Now,  in  a  very  few  years  you  will  be  twenty. 
Well,  by  that  time  she  will  be  only  eight  years  older 
than  you  are.  You  see,  women  don't  put  on  years 


216  MR.  BINGLE 

as  rapidly  as  men.  It's  a  peculiar  trick  of  nature. 
I  don't  suppose  there  is  another  living  creature  in  all 
God's  dominion  that  lives  as  long  as  a  woman  does 
before  it  can  get  past  thirty.  Take  Miss  Stokes, 
the  nurse,  for  instance.  She's  been  nearly  nine  years 
going  from  twenty-seven  to  twenty-nine.  So  there 
you  are.  You  just  keep  on  growing  up,  Freddie  — 
you  needn't  hurry,  either  —  putting  on  a  year  every 
twelve  months,  and  before  you  know  it  you'll  be  six 
months  older  than  Miss  Fairweather.  Then — " 

"  Yes,  but  how  about  this  big  Flanders  ?  "  pro 
tested  Frederick.  "  He's  already  grown-up  and  — " 

"  Nothing  to  it,"  said  Melissa.  "  He  hasn't  got 
any  money.  He  can't  give  her  diamonds  and  fine 
raiment.  He's  got  to  ask  her  to  wait  till  he's  able 
to  marry,  hasn't  he?  Well,  while  she's  about  it,  why 
shouldn't  she  wait  for  you?  It  all  amounts  to  the 
same  thing.  You'll  be  able  to  marry  her  just  as 
soon  as  he  is.  Now,  don't  be  discouraged.  Cheer 
up." 

"  You're  awfully  good,  Melissa,"  said  Frederick 
gloomily. 

"  And  what's  more,  don't  let  'em  guy  you  about 
her.  Mr.  Diggs  don't  let  any  one  guy  him  about  me, 
you  can  bet.  And  say,  if  you  can  manage  to  sneak 
one  of  Mr.  B ingle's  razors  out  of  his  room  some  day, 
I'll  shave  you.  There's  nothing  like  getting  your 
whiskers  started  early." 

"  Gee,  Melissa,  will  you?  " 

"  Like  a  shot.     Let  me  feel  your  chin.     Why,  I 


A  TIMELY  LESSON  IN  LOVE 

swear  to  goodness,  there's  something  there  already. 
It's  — " 

"  Honest,  Melissa?  Do  you  really  mean  it?  I 
thought  it  was  only  fuzz." 

"  Fuzz  your  granny,"  said  Melissa  stoutly.  "  In 
a  couple  of  months  you  could  get  a  beard  like  a  billy 
goat  if  you  shaved  regular." 

"  I  don't  want  chin  whiskers.  I  want  a  mous 
tache." 

"  And  in  the  meantime,"  went  on  Melissa  with  rare 
diplomacy,  "  you  may  see  some  one  else  that  you  like 
better  than  Miss  Fairweather.  That  very  fre 
quently  happens  to  a  fellow  when  he's  busy  trying  to 
get  a  beard." 

"  Do  you  think  she  likes  Mr.  Flanders,  Melissa  ?  " 
A  great  deal  depended  on  her  answer.  That  was  to 
be  seen  by  the  expression  in  his  young  blue  eyes. 

"  Certainly,"  said  she  promptly.  "  Everybody 
likes  him.  I  like  him.  So  does  your  ma  and  so  does 
your  pa.  That's  nothing  to  go  by.  Why,  I'll  bet 
you  like  him  yourself.  He's  a  fine  fellow." 

"  Do  you  think  he's  very  good  looking?  " 

"  In  a  way,  yes,"  said  Melissa,  musingly.  "  I 
shouldn't  call  him  quite  perfect,  however." 

"  Do  you  think  he's  as  good-looking  as  Diggs  ?  " 

"  I  used  to  think  so,  but  —  Now,  that  reminds  me : 
if  you  ever  say  a  word  to  anybody  about  Mr.  Diggs 
and  me  being  enamoured  of  each  other,  I'll  have  noth 
ing  more  to  do  with  you  —  not  a  thing,  d'you  under 
stand?  It's  a  secret.  Your  pa  and  ma  are  not  to 


218  MR.  BINGLE 

know  about  it  until  we  get  ready  to  announce  our 
engagement." 

"  I'll  never  tell,"  promised  the  young  lover. 

"  And  here's  another  thing :  Don't  you  ever  let 
on  to  Mr.  Diggs  that  I'm  over  twenty-six.  If  you 
do,  I'll  tell  your  pa  that  you're  using  his  razor,  and 
—  well,  say,  that  would  be  a  mortification  for  you. 
Miss  Fairweather  would  never  get  over  laughing  at 
you.  Do  you  know,  I'm  awfully  sorry  for  Mr.  Flan 
ders.  He  is  a  fine  fellow,  and  it  will  break  his  heart 
if  you  get  her  away  from  him,  Freddie.  It  seems  too 
bad  for  a  rich  young  gentleman  like  you  to  be  pitted 
against  a  poor,  struggling  newspaper  man  whose 
heart  is  afire  with  — " 

"Oh,  gee,  Melissa,  don't  talk  like  that,"  cried 
Frederick  in  distress.  "  I  do  like  him,  and  I  don't 
want  him  to  ever  be  unhappy." 

"  That's  the  way  to  talk,"  she  cried  warmly. 
"  That's  regular  nobility.  Let's  give  him  an  equal 
chance,  Freddie.  If  he  can  win,  all  well  and  good. 
We'll  take  our  medicine.  If  he  loses,  why  he  can  take 
his." 

"  I  wish  I  was  as  old  as  he  is,"  mourned  Frederick. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  sighed  Melissa,  wiping  an  imag 
inary  tear  from  her  eye.  "  I  do  feel  sorry  for  him. 
I  hate  to  see  a  fine,  honourable  gentleman's  heart 
busted  as  you  are  likely  to  bust  his  for  — " 

"  Oh,  goodness !  "  gulped  Frederick,  his  soul  filled 
with  pity  for  the  unfortunate  Flanders.  He  sup 
pressed  a  sniffle,  and  then,  after  a  moment  consumed 


A  TIMELY  LESSON  IN  LOVE 

in  re-ordering  his  emotions,  went  on  brightly :  "  Of 
course,  if  she  loves  him,  Melissa,  I  shall  be  the  first 
to  wish  him  joy.  That's  the  kind  of  fellow  I  am." 

"  I  wonder,"  mused  Melissa,  "  if  that's  the  kind  of 
a  fellow  he'd  be  if  some  other  fellow  won  his  lady  love 
away  from  him  in  a  fair  contest  ?  " 

It  so  happened  that  Mr.  Flanders  placed  a  dia 
mond  ring  upon  the  third  finger  of  Miss  Fair- 
weather's  left  hand  that  same  afternoon,  and  it  also 
happened  that  the  starry-eyed  young  lady  submitted 
to  a  tender  embrace  immediately  afterward.  But  a 
fortnight  passed  before  Frederick,  pale  and  wan  with 
the  anguish  that  lay  in  his  young  soul,  could  com 
mand  the  courage  to  go  up  to  his  big  rival  and  wish 
him  joy.  For  two  weeks  his  heart  had  bled,  for,  be 
it  also  recorded,  young  Frederick  happened  to  be 
lurking  unseen  in  the  library  when  the  ring  was 
passed.  He  saw  the  big  man  take  the  slim,  adored 
princess  in  his  arms,  and  he  saw  her  face  upturned 
to  greet  the  lips  that  came  down  to  meet  her's  in  — 
Alas!  Poor  Frederick! 

Right  bravely  he  accosted  Mr.  Flanders  one  day 
as  the  brisk  young  man  came  swinging  up  the  drive 
on  his  way  from  the  railway  station.  Flanders 
usually  came  at  three  in  the  afternoon.  This  habit 
was  known  to  Frederick.  He  also  knew  that  the  tall 
conqueror  spent  an  hour  with  Mr.  Bingle  before  Miss 
Fairweather  descended  from  the  school-room.  In 
fact,  every  movement  of  Mr.  Flanders  from  the  in 
stant  he  appeared  on  the  estate  to  the  moment  he  left 


220  MR.  BINGLE 

it  in  a  dash  for  the  train,  was  known  to  the  small  vic 
tim  of  the  green-eyed  devil. 

On  this  momentous  occasion  he  resolutely  laid  in 
wait  for  Mr.  Flanders  near  the  lodge-gates.  He  had 
steeled  himself  against  the  bitterest  moment  in  his 
life. 

"  Hello,"  he  said,  suddenly  stepping  out  of  the 
shrubbery  and  confronting  the  pedestrian,  who 
brought  himself  up  with  a  jerk. 

"  Hello,"  said  Richard.     "  Getting  the  air?  " 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  Mr.  Flanders,"  said 
Frederick,  with  immense  gravity. 

"  Come  along  then,  lad,  because  I'm  in  a  rush.  I 
have  to  catch  the  five-ten  in  to-day." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  take  such  long  steps." 
Flanders  obligingly  reduced  his  stride  so  that  the  boy 
was  not  forced  to  run  to  keep  up  with  him.  "  I  cut 
lessons,  sir,  to  have  a  word  with  you.  I  just  want 
to  wish  you  good  luck  and  joy,  Mr.  Flanders.  You 
have  won  the  heart  and  hand  of  the  fairest  lady  in 
the  land." 

Flanders  stopped  in  his  tracks.  "  I  say,  young 
ster,  that's  —  that's  corking  of  you."  He  was 
blushing.  "  I  had  no  idea  that  you  children  were  on 
to  us,  so  to  speak.  Thank  you,  Freddie." 

"  I  have  been  on  to  you,  Mr.  Flanders,  from  the 
beginning.     She   is   the  loveliest   lady  — "   he   swal 
lowed  hard  — "  in  the  world,  and  I  j  ust  wanted  to  tell 
you  that  if  you  don't  treat  her  well  I'll  —  I'll  - 
well,  you'll  see." 


A  TIMELY  LESSON  IN  LOVE 

Flanders  was  not  smiling.  He  understood  boys. 
He  laid  his  big  hand  on  the  little  fellow's  sturdy 
shoulder  and  said,  very  seriously : 

"  I  consider  myself  most  fortunate,  old  chap,  in 
having  the  advantage  of  you  in  years.  If  you  were 
my  own  age,  I  should  have  stood  small  chance  of 
winning  the  loveliest  lady  in  the  world.  Shake 
hands,  Freddie.  I  shall  treat  her  well,  my  lad.  If 
I  fail  in  any  particular  I  hope  you'll  take  a  shot  at 
me  on  sight.  I'm  sorry,  too,  my  boy." 

"  That's  all  right,  Mr.  Flanders,"  said  Frederick 
bravely.  "  I  bend  the  knee  to  a  worthy  rival,  sir. 
I  —  I — "  The  words  trailed  off  into  indistinct 
murmurings,  for  he  had  completely  forgotten  the 
rest  of  the  high-sounding  sentences  supplied  for  this 
very  encounter  by  the  helpful  Melissa.  She  had 
written  them  out  for  him  and  he  had  learned  them  by 
heart.  And  now  they  failed  him ! 

Flanders  allowed  his  grip  to  tighten  on  the  boy's 
shoulder.  "  You  will  get  over  it,  Freddie.  I  had  a 
similar  affliction  when  I  was  your  age.  It  was  pretty 
rough,  but  I  pulled  through." 

"  I  shall  never  love  any  one  else,  Mr.  Flanders," 
said  Frederick  solemnly.  "  I  shall  never  be  untrue 
to  her." 

"  Well,  it's  fine  of  you  to  take  it  in  such  a  manly 
fashion,  old  chap.  It's  great.  Not  many  fellows 
could  have  done  what  you've  done.  I'm  sure  I 
couldn't.  It  took  grit  to  come  out  here  and  tell  me 
this.  Shake  hands  again,  my  boy.  And  I  now 


222  MR.  BINGLE 

promise  that  I  shall  keep  her  happy  if  it  lies  in  the 
power  of  a  human  being  to  do  so.  You  may  depend 
upon  it,  Freddie." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Flanders.  I  have  great  confi 
dence  in  you.  I  trust  you.  If  you  should  ever  re 
quire  the  support  of  a  strong  and  willing  henchman 
in  time  of  dire  trouble  or  conflict  with  merciless  — 
merciless  — "  He  stopped  in  distress.  Once  more 
Melissa's  well-turned  sentences  went  back  on  him. 
For  the  life  of  him,  he  couldn't  remember  the  all- 
important  noun. 

"  Scoundrels,"  supplied  Mr.  Flanders  kindly. 

"  No,  that  isn't  the  word,"  said  Frederick,  think 
ing  hard.  "  Merciless  —  merciless  —  Oh,  yes  — 
renegades !  If  you  should  ever  require  the  support 
of  a  strong  and — " 

"  All  right,"  cried  Flanders.  "  I  understand. 
I'll  call  on  you,  you  may  be  sure." 

"  There  was  something  more  I  wanted  to  say,  but 
the  —  the  words  don't  seem  to  come  as  they  ought 
to." 

"It's  this  beastly  weather,"  said  Flanders.  "I 
never  can  think  well  in  cold  weather.  I  seem  to 
freeze  up." 

Frederick  was  relieved.  "  I  guess  maybe  that's 
it.  When  are  you  going  to  marry  her?  "  The  last 
was  a  genuine,  unrehearsed  inquiry  and  completely 
summed  up  the  situation  so  far  as  he  was  concerned. 

"  It  isn't  quite  settled.  A  great  deal  depends  on 
circumstances." 


A  TIMELY  LESSON  IN  LOVE 

"Money?" 

"  In  a  way,  yes." 

"What  does  she  say  about  it?  Is  she  willing  to 
wait  eight  or  ten  years  for  you  ?  " 

"  She  says  she  will  wait  forever,"  said  Flanders,  a 
bit  puzzled  by  the  new  turn. 

"  Well,  that's  all  right,  then,"  said  Frederick  and 
to  Richard's  amazement  he  squared  his  shoulders  and 
heaved  a  long  sigh,  as  of  relief.  "  Excuse  me, 
please,  I've  got  to  hustle.  Melissa — "  He  stopped 
in  painful  confusion.  It  had  been  on  the  tip  of  his 
ingenuous  tongue  to  blurt  out  something  that  would 
have  spoiled  all  that  had  gone  before.  It  had  to  do 
with  Melissa's  present  whereabouts  and  her  oft-re 
peated  claim  that  if  Flanders  kept  Miss  Fair  weather 
waiting  long  enough  he'd  lose  her,  sure  as  a  shot! 

An  amazing  thing  happened  to  Frederick  that 
evening,  just  before  bedtime.  Miss  Fairweather 
kissed  him  sweetly,  not  once  but  thrice,  full  on  the 
lips,  and  told  him  that  he  was  the  nicest  little  boy  in 
all  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    BIRTH    OF    NAPOLEON 

MR.  BINGLE  saw  Monsieur  Rouquin  again.  The  ex 
cellent  manager  of  the  foreign  exchange  assured  the 
vice-president  that  he  could  now  guarantee  to  pro 
cure  the  most  adorable  of  French  infants  at  a  mo 
ment's  notice,  an  infant  that  he  could  personally 
recommend  in  every  particular. 

"  Sir,"  said  Monsieur  Rouquin,  "  it  is  impossible 
to  imagine  a  more  perfect  child,  let  alone  to  create 
one.  I  have  seen  thousands,  millions  of  babies, 
M'sieur  .Bangle,  but  not  one  so  — " 

"  Bingle,"  corrected  the  vice-president. 

"  It  is  my  abominable,  unpardonable  dialect,"  de 
plored  Rouquin,  who  spoke  English  without  a  flaw. 
"  Millions  of  babes  have  I  seen,  but  not  one  so  won 
derful  as  this  one.  It  is  a  —  ah  —  it  is  a  perfect 
specimen  of — " 

"  You  say  '  it,'  Rouquin.  Am  I  to  understand  that 
its  gender  is  unknown  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  no !  "  cried  Rouquin.  "  To  be  sure  I  know 
the  sex  of  this  adorable  infant.  I  know  the  par 
ents  — " 

"  What  is  it?     A  boy  or  a  girl?  " 

Rouquin  closed  an  eye  slowly.  "  Ah,  M'sieur 
Bang  —  Bingle,  may  I  not  leave  the  question  of  sex 

224 


THE  BIRTH  OF  NAPOLEON 

to  the  child  itself?  What  could  be  more  beautiful 
than  to  present  to  your  notice  a  perfect  example  of 
humanity,  without  uttering  a  single  word  to  aid  you 
in  your  speculation  as  to  the  gender,  and  then  to  sit 
calmly  back  and  relish  the  joy  you  will  reveal  when 
you  find  that  you  have  guessed  correctly  the  very 
first  time,  as  the  boys  would  say?  That  would  be  the 
magnificent  compensation  to  me.  You  will  need  but 
one  glance  at  this  wonderful  specimen.  One  glance 
will  be  sufficient.  You  will  instantly  exclaim: 
6  What  a  monstrous  fine  boy  —  or  girl !'  as  the  case 
may  be.  Ah,  sir  — " 

"  I  must  have  a  boy,"  said  Mr.  Bingle. 

Monsieur  Rouquin  looked  relieved.  He  permitted 
a  roguish  light  to  steal  into  his  eyes.  "  I  still  im 
plore  you  to  keep  your  mind  open,  Mr.  Bingle,  until 
you  have  seen  the  child  I  have  in  mind.  Permit  me 
this  little,  silly,  boyish  pleasure,  sir  —  the  pleasure 
of  hearing  you  exclaim  —  out  of  a  clear  sky,  so  to 
say  —  6  Ah,  what  a  monstrous  fine  — '  " 

"  All  right,  Rouquin,"  broke  in  Mr.  Bingle. 
"  Only  I  warn  you  that  if  it  isn't  a  boy,  it  will  be  a 
case  of  love's  labour  lost  on  your  part." 

"  M'sieur,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Rouquin,  a 
trifle  stiffly.  "  Does  M'sieur  mean  to  imply  —  to  in 
sinuate  that  — " 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  hastily. 
"  It's  a  saying  of  Shakespeare,  Rouquin.  Of  course, 
love's  labour  is  never  really  lost.  It's  a  figure  of 
speech." 


MR.  BINGLE 

"  Ah !  "  said  Monsieur  Rouquin,  smiting  himself  on 
the  forehead.  "  I  should  have  known.  Have  I  no 
brain?  Listen!  I  tap  my  head.  Does  it  not  give 
out  a  hollow  sound,  as  if  entirely  empty?  Say  yes, 
my  dear  sir.  I  shall  not  be  offended.  To  have  mis 
interpreted  the  polite —  Ah,  but,  it  is  of  no  con 
sequence.  Pray  proceed,  sir." 

"Proceed?"  muttered  Mr.  Bingle,  frowning. 
"  There's  nothing  more  to  the  quotation,  Rouquin, 
so  far  as  I  know.  Merely  '  love's  labour  lost,'  no 
more.  But  I  would  like  to  ask  a  question  or  two. 
Are  the  parents  of  this  child  quite  respectable  peo 
ple?  " 

Rouquin  rolled  his  eyes  upward.  "  Utterly,"  he 
said,  with  deep  feeling  in  his  voice. 

"Healthy?" 

"  Parfaitment!  " 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"  Perfectly,  my  dear  Mr.  Bingle." 

"Oh!     And  are  they  married?" 

"  Mon  dieu ! "  cried  Rouquin,  turning  scarlet. 
"  Absolutely,  sir  —  incontestably." 

"  I  mean,  to  each  other." 

"  Monsieur  jests,"  was  all  that  Rouquin  could  say. 
He  wiped  his  brow,  however. 

"  Well,  when  may  we  see  the  child?  When  can 
we  talk  it  over  with  the  parents  ?  " 

"  That  is  for  you  to  say,  sir." 

"  To-morrow   afternoon  ?  " 

"  I  shall  so  arrange  it,  sir.     Will  not  you   and 


THE  BIRTH  OF  NAPOLEON 

Madame  Bang  —  Bingle  honour  me  with  your  pres 
ence  at  a  little  tea-room  —  quite  an  excellent  and  re 
fined  place  that  I  know  of  —  before  we  go  to  inspect 
the  child?  It  will  give  me  the  greatest  pleasure 
if—" 

"  See  here,  Rouquin,  that's  most  kind  of  you,  but 
I'd  prefer  to  have  you  take  tea  with  Mrs.  Bingle 
and  me.  Do  you  know  of  a  nice,  but  thoroughly 
typical  French  restaurant  where  we  could  —  er  — 
get  a  bit  of  the  atmosphere,  don't  you  know?  We 
are  figuring  on  taking  a  trip  to  Paris  soon  and  we'd 
like  to  —  well,  you  know  what  I  mean?  Quiet,  re 
spectable  place,  you  know.  Nothing  rowdyish." 

Rouquin's  eyes  sparkled.  His  joy  was  great. 
"  Ah,  I  know  of  such  a  place.  But  it  is  not  a  tea 
room,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term.  It  is  a  cafe 
where  one  has  the  finest  table  d'hote  dinner  in  all 
New  York  for  one  dollar  per  person,  wine  included. 
Ah,  if  Monsieur  would  only  condescend  to  dine  there, 
after  we  have  seen  the  child,  I  am  sure  — " 

"  I'll  telephone  you  in  the  morning,"  said  Mr. 
Bingle,  his  eyes  gleaming.  "  I  shall  have  to  speak 
to  Mrs.  Bingle  about  it  first." 

It  was  left  that  they  were  to  visit  the  infant  and 
its  utterly  respectable  parents  at  four  on  the  fol 
lowing  afternoon.  Rouquin  had  already  assured  Mr. 
Bingle  that  only  the  direst  necessity  made  it  possi 
ble  for  the  wretched  father  and  mother  to  even  t liirik 
of  giving  up  their  greatest  treasure,  this  marvellous 
infant.  In  fact,  it  was  only  because  they  loved  the 


228  MR.  BINGLE 

child  so  dearly  that  they  were  content  to  see  it  pass 
out  of  their  lives.  For,  said  Monsieur  Rouquin,  they 
were  so  poor  and  so  proud  that  suicide  was  the  only 
thing  left  for  them  in  this  terrific  struggle  with  ad 
versity,  and  what  was  to  become  of  the  child  if  they 
killed  themselves?  They  would  not  murder  their 
adored  one,  and,  while  it  was  quite  possible  for  the 
father  and  mother  to  destroy  themselves,  one  really 
couldn't  expect  a  fifteen  months  old  child  to  take  its 
own  life  by  involuntary  starvation  —  which  was  un 
speakable.  And,  said  he,  they  couldn't  consider  sui 
cide  without  first  making  sure  that  their  beloved  was 
safely  provided  for.  After  that  —  well,  they  could 
then  go  about  it  quite  happily,  if  needs  be.  Mr. 
Single  was  deeply  distressed. 

Rouquin  had  quite  a  surprise  for  them  when  they 
called  at  the  bank  for  him.  As  he  settled  himself 
gracefully  in  the  seat  beside  Mrs.  Bingle,  he  an 
nounced  that  he  had  arranged  with  the  heart-sick 
parents  to  fetch  the  babe  to  his  humble  apartment  at 
half-past  four,  where  at  least  one  could  be  sure  of 
avoiding  the  unfriendly  presence  of  a  too-persistent 
rent-collector,  to  say  nothing  of  the  distressing 
odours  of  extreme  poverty.  Indeed,  said  Monsieur 
Rouquin,  it  was  not  improbable  that  they  might  find 
the  excellent  Rousseaus  in  the  apartment  on  their 
arrival  there,  as  he  had  given  directions  to  the  jani 
tor  to  admit  them  without  question.  He  couldn't 
bear  the  thought  of  poor  little  Madame  Rousseau 
standing  outside  in  the  cold  hall  with  that  adorable 


THE  BIRTH  OF  NAPOLEON          229 

infant  in  imminent  peril  of  freezing  to  death  because 
of  insufficient  apparel. 

"  Are  they  descendants  of  the  great  genre 
painter?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Bingle.  There  was  a  small 
painting  by  the  great  Barbizon  artist  in  the  Bingle 
drawing-room.  She  had  been  reading  up  on  Rous 
seau,  and  Miss  Fairweather  had  told  her  how  to 
pronounce  genre. 

"  That  I  cannot  affirm,  Madame,"  said  Rouquin, 
with  infinite  regret  in  his  voice.  "  It  is  possible,  even 
probable,  that  Monsieur  Rousseau  is  a  direct  de 
scendant,  but  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  say  so  with 
authority.  I  shall  make  it  a  point  to  repeat  your 
question  to  him." 

"  It  would  be  most  interesting  to  have  a  descend 
ant  of  Rousseau  in  the  same  house  with  one  of  his 
masterpieces,  and  under  the  conditions  we  face,  don't 
you  think,  Mr.  Rouquin?"  Mrs.  Bingle  had  never 
been  quite  secure  in  her  pronunciation  of  monsieur, 
so  she  avoided  the  word. 

Monsieur  Rouquin  agreed  that  it  would  be  amaz 
ingly  interesting,  and  then  went  on  to  say  that  he 
had  known  Madame  Rousseau  while  she  was  still 
petite  Marie  Vallamont,  but  his  acquaintance  with 
her  husband  was  of  short  duration.  In  fact,  he 
knew  little  about  him  except  that  his  great  grand 
father  had  been  beheaded  at  the  time  of  the  revolu 
tion,  which  was  in  itself  sufficient  proof  that  he  was 
descended  from  the  aristocracy  if  not  the  nobility  of 
France. 


230  MR.  BINGLE 

"  You  are  aware,  of  course,"  said  he,  "  that  only 
the  aristocracy  had  their  heads  cut  off  during  those 
eventful  days." 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  said  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bin- 
gle  so  promptly  that  Monsieur  Rouquin  at  once 
changed  the  subject.  He  realised  that  they  knew 
quite  as  much  if  not  more  of  French  history  than 
he. 

As  he  had  suspected,  the  Rousseaus  were  awaiting 
them  in  the  apartment.  They  were  very  nice  look 
ing  young  people,  rather  shabbily  attired  in  gar 
ments  which,  though  clearly  the  cast-off  apparel  of 
more  prosperous  owners,  were  still  neat  and  re 
motely  fashionable.  Madame  Rousseau  was  quite  a 
pretty  woman,  with  a  soft,  restrained  voice  and  a 
tendency  to  say  "  Oui,  Madame,"  with  great  fre 
quency  and  politeness.  Her  husband,  poor  as  he  was, 
sustained  the  credit  of  aristocracy  by  smoking  in 
numerable  cigarettes,  with  which  he  appeared  to  be 
most  plentifully  supplied. 

"  You  found  my  cigarettes,  I  see.  That  is  good," 
said  Rouquin,  shortly  after  the  introductions.  He 
spoke  somewhat  tartly,  as  if  an  idea  had  just  oc 
curred  to  him.  He  shot  a  furtive  glance  at  Mr. 
Bingle  as  he  made  the  remark. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Rousseau,  after  an  instant's  hesi 
tation.  "  I  beg  Madame's  pardon.  Does  the  smok 
ing  annoy  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Bingle.  "  I  am  used  to 
it.  Mr.  Bingle  smokes  a  pipe." 


THE  BIRTH  OF  NAPOLEON          231 

"Well,  where  is  the  baby?"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  de 
clining  the  cigarette  which  Rousseau  proffered  in 
the  absence  of  hospitality  on  Monsieur  Rouquin's 
part. 

"  Oh,"  said  Madame  Rousseau,  "  it  sleeps.  I  have 
put  it  into  Monsieur  RaouPs  warm  bed.  Such  a 
cruelty  it  would  be  to  awake  the  baby,  M'sieur." 

"  I  think  I'd  like  to  see  what  it  looks  like  while 
asleep,  Madame,"  said  Bingle,  with  the  air  of  a 
shrewd  bargainer.  "  You  see,  I've  become  quite  an 
expert  on  babies.  I  don't  believe  there  is  a  better 
judge  of  —  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  forgot  to  inquire 
if  my  English  is  quite  intelligible.  Do  you  follow 
me?" 

"  Your  English  is  perfect,  M'sieur,"  she  assured 
him,  brightly.  "  May  I  say  that  it  surprises  me. 
I  have  been  in  your  America  for  five  years  and  I  have 
not  before  this  hour  heard  an  American  speak  the 
English  language  so  perfectly — " 

"  Ahem ! "  coughed  Rouquin,  and  Madame  Rous 
seau  completed  her  estimate  of  Mr.  Bingle's  English 
by  spreading  her  hands  in  a  gesture  which  signified 
utter  inability  to  express  herself  in  words.  "  Shall 
we  peep  into  my  bedroom?  "  went  on  the  foreign  ex 
change  manager. 

"  Said  the  spider  to  the  fly,"  came  quite  distinctly 
from  Monsieur  Rousseau. 

"  Remember,"  cautioned  Rouquin,  his  hand  on  the 
door-knob,  "  you  are  to  guess  what  it  is,  Mr.  Bin 
gle." 


MR.  BINGLE 

"  I  suppose  I'm  to  have  two  guesses,"  said  Mr. 
Bingle,  with  a  chuckle. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Rouquin.  "  Provided  your  first 
guess  is  wrong." 

Stealthily  the  group  entered  the  bedroom  of  Mon 
sieur  Rouquin.  The  window  shades  were  down.  The 
room  was  quite  dark.  On  the  bed  was  a  dimly  dis 
tinguishable  heap. 

"  Sh ! "  whispered  Madame  Rousseau,  putting  a 
finger  to  her  lips  —  which  in  the  light  of  the  sun 
were  singularly  red  and  unstarved. 

"  Sh !  "  echoed  her  husband. 

"Sh!"  said  Rouquin. 

On  tip-toe  they  all  advanced  upon  the  heap,  now 
resolved  into  a  pile  of  pink  blankets.  Mr.  Bingle 
leaned  far  over  the  heap.  Then  he  put  on  his  spec 
tacles. 

"  Where  is  it  ?  "  he  whispered. 

66  Mon  dieu !  "  gulped  the  young  mother,  in  con 
sternation.  She  whipped  the  blankets  off  the  bed. 
There  was  no  baby.  A  second  later  she  darted 
through  a  door  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room, 
slamming  it  violently  behind  her.  Monsieur  Rous 
seau  started  to  laugh  but  cut  it  short  and  sput 
tered  Mon  dieu  three  or  four  times  in  a  choked 
voice. 

"  What  does  all  this  mean  ? "  demanded  Mr. 
Bingle.  "  God  bless  my  soul !  " 

In  the  meantime,  Madame  Rousseau  was  confront 
ing  a  motherly  looking  person  in  Monsieur  Rouquin's 


THE  BIRTH  OF  NAPOLEON          233 

bath-room,  down  the  little  hall.  The  motherly  look 
ing  person  was  holding  a  fat,  yellow-headed  baby  on 
her  lap  and  to  the  mouth  of  the  fat,  yellow-headed 
baby  was  attached  the  business  end  of  a  hall7- c_np  tied 
milk-bottle. 

The  conversation  was  in  whispered  French,  and  of 
exceeding  bitterness  on  one  side.  It  is  not  neces 
sary  to  repeat  what  was  said.  It  is  only  necessary 
to  explain  that  the  motherly  looking  person  was  the 
infant's  grandmother  —  in  fact  the  mother  of  Ma 
dame  Rousseau.  From  certain  disjointed  explana 
tory  scraps  that  fell  from  the  motherly  person's  lips  it 
might  have  been  divined  that  the  baby  awoke  some 
time  before  the  arrival  of  the  great  philanthropist, 
and  that  grandmere  deemed  it  to  be  the  part  of  wis 
dom  to  feed  it  thoroughly  before  submitting  it  for 
inspection.  No  one  takes  to  a  howling  brat,  she 
protested.  Besides,  what  was  she  there  for  if  not 
to  look  after  the  child  of  her  ungrateful,  selfish 
daughter  who  had  not  the  slightest  feeling  of  — 
But,  all  this  time,  Madame  Rousseau  was  informing 
her  mother  that  she  was  a  meddlesome,  stupid  old 
blunderer,  and  that  the  fat  was  in  the  fire.  She 
snatched  the  baby  from  the  old  lady's  arms.  The 
bottle  crashed  to  the  tile  floor  and  painted  a  section 
of  it  white,  its  pristine  hue.  The  infant  was  too  sur 
prised  to  cry.  It  maintained  an  open-mouthed  si 
lence  even  as  its  mother  whisked  out  of  the  bath-room 
and  brought  the  door  to  with  a  bang,  leaving  grand- 
mere  in  the  centre  of  a  pool  of  white,  still  whispering 


MR.  BINGLE 

shrilly  that  even  though  a  wise  father  might  by 
chance  know  his  own  son,  a  mother  never  could  hope 
to  know  her  own  daughter. 

Messieurs  Rouquin  and  Rousseau  were  talking 
loudly,  rapidly  and  very  excitedly  to  each  other  — 
in  French,  of  course  —  when  Madame  burst  into  the 
room  with  the  infant.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingle,  still 
staring  at  the  unoccupied  bed,  had  nothing  but  blank 
bewilderment  in  their  honest  faces. 

"Ah!55  shouted  the  two  Frenchmen  joyously. 

"  That  stupid  servant !  "  squealed  Madame  Rous 
seau,  hugging  the  baby  to  her  breast  in  frantic  re 
lief.  "Oh,  what  a  fright  I  have  had.  Take  the 
baby,  Jean.  Mon  dieu !  Do  not  let  it  fall!  Oh, 
m'sieur,  madame,  you  will  never  know  how  I  was  an 
guished.  I  thought  I  had  lost  my  darling,  my 
adored  one.  The  black-hand  what-you-call-him  — 
non,  non,  the  kidnapper.  My  baby!  Jean,  Jean, 
do  not  let  it  out  of  your  sight  again  —  never,  do  you 
hear.  Now,  madame,  will  you  not  be  kind  enough  to 
look  at  my  baby?  Come,  m'sieur,  to  the  window. 
Jean,  pull  up  the  shade." 

Jean  almost  dropped  his  precious  burden  in  his 
eagerness  to  do  as  he  was  bidden,  and  might  actually 
have  done  so  but  for  the  timely  intervention  of  Mon 
sieur  Rouquin,  who  sprang  to  the  window  and  sent 
the  shade  up  with  a  crash  that  caused  Mrs.  Bingle  to 
jump  with  alarm. 

"  See !  "  shouted  Rouquin,  stepping  back  and  point 
ing  proudly  at  the  baby. 


THE  BIRTH  OF  NAPOLEON          235 

"  God  bless  my  soul ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Single. 

"  Oh,  the  darling ! "  cried  his  wife,  and  tried  at 
once  to  take  the  sunny-faced  youngster  from  the 
arms  of  Monsieur  Jean.  But  Jean  held  on  very 
tightly,  apparently  awaiting  orders.  It  may  have 
been  the  unusual  fervour  of  the  father's  clasp  that 
caused  the  child  to  whimper,  or  it  may  have  been 
that  it  never  had  seen  such  an  expression  in  its  par 
ent's  face  before.  At  any  rate,  as  it  looked  up  into 
Jean's  swarthy  countenance  it  began  to  cry ;  where 
upon  Madame  Rousseau  exclaimed  shrilly : 

"Can't  you  see,  Jean?  Madame  would  hold  my 
baby  to  her  breast.  Quick!  You  big  simpleton! 
Ah,  madame,  my  poor  Jean  is  so  sad,  so  broken 
hearted  over  the  thought  of  losing  his  child  that 
he —  There!  See!  See  the  lovely  smile  once 
more  ?  " 

It  was  true  that  the  instant  Mrs.  Bingle  received 
the  plump  wriggler  in  her  arms,  the  beaming  smile 
was  restored.  Jean  moved  quickly  into  the  back 
ground,  and  turned  his  miserable  face  away  from  the 
scene. 

The  Rousseau  baby  was  adorable,  there  could  be 
no  mistake  about  that.  In  previous  experiences, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingle  had  encountered  half-starved, 
unhappy,  whining  infants.  This  was  the  first  time 
they  had  come  upon  a  lusty,  apparently  over-fed 
specimen,  and  they  were  at  once  filled  with  the  joy 
of  covetousness.  Thick  yellow  curls,  bright  blue  eyes, 
and  cheeks  that  would  have  shamed  the  peach's 


236  MR.  BINGLE 

bloom  —  and  a  nearly  completed  row  of  tiny  white 
teeth  —  such  was  the  Rousseau  applicant  at  first 
glance.  Moreover,  its  clothing  was  clean,  soft  and 
sweet-smelling  of  fabrics  that  do  not  often  find  their 
way  into  the  houses  of  the  poverty-stricken. 

"  Wait !  "  exclaimed  Rouquin,  fairly  dancing  with 
exuberant  joy.  "Wait!  Now,  Mr.  Bingle  —  now 
for  the  guess,  sir.  I  give  you  but  one  guess.  What 
is  it  —  a  boy  or  a  girl  ?  " 

Madame  Rousseau  clasped  her  hands  ecstatically 
upon  her  bosom.  "  Oh,  as  if  my  baby  could  be  any 
thing  but  — " 

"  Sh ! "  hissed  the  master  of  ceremonies. 

So  much  whirlwind  excitement  as  all  this,  so  much 
radiant  joy  over  the  disposal  of  a  baby,  had  never 
entered  into  any  previous  negotiation,  and  Mr.  Bin 
gle  was  quite  carried  away  by  the  novelty  of  the 
situation.  Never  before  had  the  ceremony  resolved 
itself  into  an  enigma,  a  puzzle,  so  to  speak,  in  which 
it  was  his  privilege  to  make  one  guess. 

"  It's  a  boy,"  said  he,  with  conviction,  whereupon 
the  mother,  the  father  and  Monsieur  Rouquin  filled 
the  room  with  joyous  exclamations  and  the  baby, 
imitative  little  beggar  that  he  was,  crowed  with  de- 
light. 

Madame  Rousseau  could  not  get  over  the  despic 
able  behaviour  of  Rouquin's  servant.  She  kept  on  be 
rating  the  creature  and  advising  Rouquin  to  dismiss 
her,  until  at  last  Mrs.  Bingle  announced  that  the 
poor  thing  undoubtedly  had  acted  for  the  best  and 


THE  BIRTH  OF  NAPOLEON          237 

out  of  the  goodness  of  her  heart.  She  also  said 
that  she  would  like  to  see  the  woman. 

Monsieur  Rouquin  being  of  a  mind  to  dismiss  the 
presumptuous  domestic,  Mrs.  Bingle  blandly  de 
clared  that,  if  her  references  were  all  as  good  as  the 
one  Madame  Rousseau  was  giving  her,  she  wouldn't 
hesitate  for  an  instant  to  engage  her  to  look  after 
the  child  in  case  it  joined  the  Bingle  collection. 
There  were  voluble  protests  in  French  from  both 
Madame  Rousseau  and  Rouquin,  and  then  Monsieur 
Jean  announced  in  English  that  the  old  servant  was 
like  a  mother  to  Rouquin  and  that  he  would  as  soon 
think  of  cutting  off  his  right  hand  as  to  allow  her 
to  go  out  of  his  life.  Rouquin  glared  at  him  for 
this,  and  the  shabby-genteel  Jean  had  the  audacity 
to  close  one  eye  slowly. 

Madame  Rousseau's  mother  was  permitted  to  re 
main  in  the  bath-room,  and  no  further  reference  was 
made  to  her. 

"  Well,  let's  get  down  to  business,"  said  Mr.  Bin 
gle,  presenting  his  forefinger  to  the  babe  for  inspec 
tion.  Monsieur  PEnfant  promptly  seized  it  and 
conveyed  it  toward  his  earnest  mouth.  "  No,  no  !  " 
cried  Mr.  Bingle  reprovingly.  "  Mustn't  do  that. 
Naughty,  naughty!  The  microbes  will  get  you  if 
you  don't  watch  out.  Dear  me,  what  a  strong  little 
rascal  he  is  !  By  the  way,  what  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  It  has  been  Napoleon,"  said  the  mother.  "  But 
he  can  be  made  to  forget  it,  m'sieur,  if  you  desire." 

"  Napoleon  Bingle,"  mused  Mr.  Bingle,  and  then 


238  MR.  BINGLE 

sent  a  sharp,  questioning  glance  to  his  wife.  She 
gravely  nodded  her  head.  "  Not  at  all  bad.  Ahem ! 
Shall  we  return  to  the  other  room  ?  Naturally  there 
are  a  great  many  questions  to  be  asked  and  answered. 
Rouquin,  will  you  oblige  me  by  getting  a  pad  of  pa 
per  and  taking  down  all  of  the  —  er  —  statistics?" 

It  developed  that  Napoleon  Rousseau,  now  sitting 
bolt  upright  in  Mrs.  Bingle's  lap  and  staring  wide- 
eyed  at  the  interesting  face  of  Jean  Rousseau,  was 
a  trifle  over  fourteen  months  of  age,  born  in  New 
York  City,  the  son  of  Jean  and  Marie  Vallemont 
Rousseau,  persons  lawfully  wedded  in  the  city  of 
Paris  by  a  magistrate  —  (Madame  explained  that 
while  the  certificate  with  all  of  Jean's  paintings  had 
been  destroyed  in  the  fire  which  wrecked  their  tiny 
apartment  soon  after  their  arrival  in  New  York,  a 
copy  could  easily  be  obtained  if  M'sieur  et  Madame 
insisted  on  going  into  such  small  details)  —  and  of 
sound  health  so  far  as  could  be  known  at  this  time. 
He  had  survived  the  heat  of  one  summer  and  had 
actually  thrived  on  the  frigidity  of  this,  his  second 
winter,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he  had  fre 
quently  slept  without  covering  in  their  poor,  wind 
swept  attic. 

"  Splendid ! "  said  Mr.  Bingle,  casting  an  admir 
ing  glance  at  the  rubicund  Napoleon.  "  A  hardy 
chap,  by  Jove.  Of  course,  Madame,  you  understand 
that  it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  appear  with  us 
before  the  proper  authorities  and  sign  certain  pa 
pers,  and  so  forth,  before  the  baby  can  be  legally 


THE  BIRTH  OF  NAPOLEON          239 

adopted  by  Mrs.  Bingle  and  myself.  The  law  pro 
vides  that  you  and  your  husband  shall  release  all  — " 

"  Mon  dieu ! "  muttered  Madame  Rousseau,  and 
as  she  had  uttered  the  expression  no  fewer  than 
twenty  times  in  the  past  half  hour,  Mrs.  Bingle  was 
less  favourably  impressed  with  her  than  at  the  outset. 
To  Mrs.  Bingle  "  Mon  dieu  "  was  blasphemy.  "  Is 
not  my  word  sufficient,  m'sieur?  I  freely  give  my 
child  to  you.  I  am  its  mother.  No  one  else  has  a 
right  to  say  what  — " 

"  Ah,  but  you  forget  its  father,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Bingle. 

"  Yes,"  said  Monsieur  Jean,  amiably.  "  Has  the 
child's  father  nothing  to  say  about  — " 

"  Be  quiet,  Jean,"  broke  in  his  wife  severely. 
Then  to  Rouquin :  "  You  did  not  so  inform  me, 
M'sieur  Rouquin.  You  told  me  nothing  of  this  go 
ing  into  a  court  or  what-you-call-it.  I  am  aghast. 
Why  do  you  not  tell  me  of  this,  M'sieur  Rouquin? 
Is  it  not  enough  that  I  give  up  my  beloved  Napoleon  ? 
Am  I  to  be  humiliated  by  revealing  my  misery,  my 
despair  — " 

"  Now,  now,"  broke  in  Mr.  Bingle  kindly,  feeling 
extremely  sorry  for  the  unfortunate  Rouquin,  who, 
after  all,  was  trying  to  befriend  the  woman.  The 
face  of  the  foreign  exchange  teller  was  quite  livid, 
no  doubt  from  the  effect  of  a  suppressed  indigna 
tion.  "  It  is  really  nothing  to  be  worried  about, 
Madame.  We  merely  go  before  a  magistrate  in 
Chambers  and  swear  to  certain  things  —  both  of  you, 


240  MR.  BINGLE 

of  course  —  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it.  You  must 
declare  that  you,  as  the  mother  of  Napoleon,  volun 
tarily  relinquish  all  claim  to  him  in  favour  of  his 
foster  parents,  and  we,  in  turn,  swear  that  —  well, 
that  we  will  bring  him  up  as  our  own,  and  — 
er  —  don't  you  know.  That's  quite  simple,  isn't 
it?" 

"  Quite,"  said  Rouquin. 

"  And  you,  Mr.  Rousseau,  will  be  obliged  to  swear 
that  you,  as  well  as  your  wife,  forfeit  all  claim,  pres 
ent  or  future,  to  this  child,  and  do  so  without  force 
or  duress.  Of  course,  I  shall  ask  my  attorney  to 
explain  everything  to  both  of  you,  so  that  you  may 
not  act  without  complete  understanding.  Before 
we  go  before  the  Court,  you  will  be  instructed  in 
every  move  you  are  to  make.  And  now,  Madame, 
will  you  be  willing  to  take  oath  that  you  are  the 
mother  of  Napoleon  and  as  such  will  henceforth 
cease  to  regard  him  as  your  son  in  case  we  conclude 
to  adopt  him  as  our  own  ?  " 

Madame  Rousseau  looked  from  Jean  to  Rouquin 
and  then  from  Rouquin  to  Jean,  quite  helpless  in  the 
face  of  this  requirement.  Rouquin  and  Jean  looked 
at  each  other,  and  Jean's  jaw  was  set  rather  hard 
and  there  was  an  anxious,  uncertain  look  in  his  eyes 
• —  a  look  not  far  short  of  being  rebellious.  The 
young  mother  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and 
began  to  sob  violently.  For  some  reason,  Jean's 
jaw  relaxed. 

"  Oh,    my    poor   little    Napoleon ! "    she    moaned. 


THE  BIRTH  OF  NAPOLEON 

"How  can  I  give  you  up?     My  angel  Napoleon!'* 

"  See  here,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bingle,  touched  by  this 
sudden  aspect  of  misery,  "  I'm  a  very  tender-hearted 
man.  If  you  will  permit  me,  Madame,  I  may  be  able 
to  arrange  a  way  for  you  and  your  husband  to  find 
a  means  of  living  comfortably  on  good  wages,  and 
you  may  then  be  in  a  position  to  keep  little  Na 
poleon  — " 

"  No,  no !  "  cried  she  instantly  —  almost  fiercely. 
"  I  could  not  think  of  it,  M'sieur.  I  cannot  consent 
to  any  — " 

"  Pardon  me,"  interrupted  Rouquin  blandly. 
"  Allow  me  to  propose  a  — " 

"  I  shall  not  listen  to  any  proposition  that  may 
include  Jean  and  myself  in  — " 

"  In  other  words,"  said  Rouquin,  turning  to  Mr. 
Bingle,  "  she  will  not  accept  charity  for  herself  or 
her  husband.  They  are  very  proud,  Mr.  Bingle. 
They  would  die  before  accepting  charity  from  — " 

"  A  thousand  times ! "  blurted  out  Monsieur  Jean, 
wiping  his  brow.  "  Count  me  out !  " 

"  Dear  me,  dear  me !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Bingle. 

Napoleon  began  to  cry.  He  had  a  lusty  pair  of 
lungs.  Almost  instantly,  the  motherly  looking  per 
son  appeared  in  the  doorway.  She  had  been  waiting 
for  Napoleon's  signal. 

"  See !  "  she  cried,  holding  up  a  bottle  of  milk. 
"  I  have  it !  To  the  dairy-lunch  and  the  chemist's 
I  have  been  while  — " 

Rouquin  leaped  forward  and  snatched  the  squall- 


MR.  BINGLE 

ing  Napoleon  from  Mrs.  Bingle's  arms,  and  an  in 
stant  later  deposited  him  in  those  of  his  maternal 
grandmother,  who  in  almost  the  same  instant  was 
pushed  rudely  out  of  the  room.  The  door  was 
quickly  closed.  Napoleon's  howls  receded. 

"  Now,"  said  Rouquin,  "  we  may  talk  in  peace. 
My  faithful  old  servant,  Madame,"  he  went  on,  turn 
ing  to  Mrs.  Bingle  with  his  rarest  smile.  "  I  do  not 
know  what  I  should  do  without  her.  She  has  gone 
out  for  the  milk  and —  Ah,  what  a  treasure  she 
is !  Mon  dieu,  how  I  appreciate  that  wonderful 
Fifi!  That  is  her  name,  Madame  —  Fifi.  Ah! 
Sublime  — " 

"  She  didn't  look  like  a  servant,  Mr.  Rou 
quin,"  said  Mrs.  Bingle,  recovered  from  her  sur 
prise. 

"  You  speak  of  her  dress,  Madame?  Has  she  not 
declared  but  now,  this  instant,  that  she  went  out  to 
the  chemist's,  to  the  dairy-lunch?  Catch  Fifi  on  the 
street  in  her  servant's  dress  !  No,  no !  She  spends 
her  wages  on  dress,  vain  creature.  She  would  no 
more  think  of  venturing  upon  the  street  in  —  but, 
we  waste  time.  Of  what  interest  can  be  the  foibles 
of  my  poor  old  servant  to  you,  Madame?  Come, 
Marie  —  you  see  I  have  known  Madame  Rousseau 
these  many  years,  M'sieur  —  come,  let  us  assure  Mr. 
Bingle  that  he  need  have  nothing  to  fear  if  he  decides 
to  do  you  —  and  poor  old  Jean  here  —  the  honour 
of  adopting  your  most  fortunate  baby." 

Madame  Rousseau  dried  her  eyes  upon  a  singularly 


THE  BIRTH  OF  NAPOLEON  243 

pretty  little  handkerchief,  and  then  smiled  beatif- 
ically. 

"  M'sieur  need  have  no  fear.  I  shall  take  the 
oath  for  my  grand,  my  adorable  Napoleon's  sake. 
After  that,  what  shall  I  care  what  becomes  of  me. 
He  shall  be  safe.  That  is  enough." 

"  Good !  "  cried  Mr.  Bingle.  Then  he  turned  to 
the  silent,  glowering  Jean.  "  And  you,  my  good 
man.  Will  you  also  take  oath  that  Napoleon  is  your 
son  and  that  you,  as  his  lawful  father  — " 

"  I  say,  Rouquin,"  began  Jean  in  a  far  from 
amiable  tone.  Rouquin  at  once  took  him  by  the 
arm  and  led  him  into  the  bedroom,  whispering 
fiercely  all  the  way. 

"  My  Jean  is  very  proud,"  explained  Madame 
Rousseau,  dabbing  her  nose  and  eyes  with  a  bit  of 
a  powder  rag.  "  He  is  so  obstinate,  too,  But 
M'sieur  Rouquin  will  talk  sense  into  his  head,  never 
fear." 

There  was  an  awkward  silence.  Finally  Mrs. 
Bingle  spoke. 

"  Is  your  husband  a  descendant  of  the  painter?  " 

Madame  Rousseau  looked  surprised. 

"  He  is  the  painter,  Madame." 

"  The  —  impossible !  I  refer  to  the  great  Rous 
seau  of  the  1830  school." 

"  Oh,  I  see.  No,  no  —  he  is  not  that  one.  Jean 
was  not  yet  born.  Mon  dieu,  was  there  another 
Rousseau?  " 

"  There  was,"  said  Mrs.  Bingle  tartly. 


MR.  BINGLE 

"  Jean  is  the  painter  of  to-day.  He  is  great,  he 
is  splendid,  he  is  magnificent.  But,  la  la!  he  is  so 
poor !  " 

"  That  seems  to  establish  him  all  right,"  said  Mr. 
Bingle. 

Rouquin  and  Jean  reappeared.  Both  were  smil 
ing  cheerfully.  Jean  affected  a  somewhat  degage 
manner  and  a  perceptible  swagger. 

"  Very  well,  M'sieur,"  he  said.     "  I'll  swear  to  it." 

"  Then  I  shall  leave  the  details  to  my  attorney, 
who,  you  will  discover,  is  a  most  conscientious,  de 
pendable  person.  In  the  meantime,  when  will  it  be 
convenient  for  Dr.  Fiddler  to  examine  Napoleon?  " 

Rouquin  explained  at  some  length  in  rapid  French, 
and  Madame  Rousseau  was  once  more  consoled. 
Jean  appeared  to  be  somewhat  bored.  He  yawned, 
in  fact. 

"  And  now,"  cried  Monsieur  Rouquin  in  a  great 
voice,  "  I  have  a  plan.  Let  us  celebrate  the  birth  of 
Monsieur  Napoleon  Bingle  by  dining  together  at 
Pierre's.  This  day  he  is  born  again  —  or,  at  least, 
prospectively  born.  Life  for  him  really  begins  to 
day  —  the  sixth  of  March.  It  is  my  treat !  I  shall 
be  the  host  on  this  memorable  occasion.  Pierre  shall 
give  to  us  the  best  duckling  in  his  larder  and  the 
rarest  bottle  of — " 

"  But  my  dear  Rouquin,"  began  Mr.  Bingle. 

"  I  implore  you,  kind  friend,  to  honour  me  with 
your  presence  this  evening.  The  greatest  day  of  my 


THE  BIRTH  OF  NAPOLEON 

life  shall  be  this  one  if  you  but  consent  to  grace  my 
board  with  your  lovely  lady.  And  poor  Madame 
Rousseau  and  her  amiable  husband  shall  not  be  the 
ghosts  at  the  feast,  as  one  might  suspect,  but  joyful 
spirits.  To  them  we  will  drink  a  toast  of  good  will 
and  better  luck  next  time,  and  they  may  drink  to 
you,  madame  and  sir,  the  health  of  one  grand  Na 
poleon  Bingle,  in  whose  past  they  both  shared  but 
whose  future  can  only  be  a  — " 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Rouquin,"  broke  in  Monsieur  Jean 
languidly,  "  why  not  make  it  4  many  happy  returns 
of  the  day  '?  That's  the  real  issue." 

Rouquin  coughed  violently,  and,  upon  recovering 
himself,  went  on  with  a  slight  modification  of  his  rap 
ture  :  "  Whatever  should  come  of  this  day's  work, 
we  should  all  drink  deeply  to  the  health,  prosperity 
and  fame  of  a  future  president  of  the  United  States 
—  Napoleon  Bingle !  Come,  Madame  Bingle,  you 
cannot  refuse  to  join  your  humble  servant  and  peti 
tioner  in  one  jolly,  epoch-making  —  though  abso 
lutely  respectable  —  celebration  in  honour  of  our  lit 
tle  Napoleon.  And  you,  M'sieur  —  Ah,  you,  sir ! 
Have  you  not  in  prospect  the  alliance  of  your  own 
honoured  name  with  that  of  the  most  notable  French 
man  of  recent  times?  Napoleon!  Bingle!  Ah, 
think  of  it !  Bingle  —  Napoleon !  We  can  afford  to 
overlook  the  fact  that  Napoleon  was  a  Corsican  and 
not  a  —  real  Frenchman.  We  can  — " 

"  Just  as  we  must  overlook  the  fact  that  little  Na- 


246  MR.  BINGLE 

poleon  is  a  Rousseau  and  not  a  Single,"  said  Mr. 
Bingle  drily. 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so,"  agreed  Rouquin  hastily. 
"  Napoleon  Bonaparte  was  the  adopted  son  of 
France,  and  Napoleon  Rousseau  is  the  adopted  son 
of  the  great  Thomas  Bingleton  Single  — " 

"  Singleton  Single,"  corrected  Mr.  Bingle,  as 
Rouquin  hesitated  in  evident  appreciation  of  his 
mixed  consonants. 

"  I  am  sure  Madame  Rousseau  will  not  feel  like 
joining  in  a  feast  at  this  time,"  said  Mrs.  Bingle. 
"  It  is  hardly  an  occasion  for  jollification  — " 

"  Ah,  Madame,"  cried  Madame  Rousseau,  with 
sparkling  eyes,  "  it  is  not  for  myself  that  I  would 
jollify,  but  for  the  adored  Napoleon.  It  is  for  him 
that  I  would  rejoice.  Is  he  not  to  become  rich  and 
honoured,  and  is  he  not  to  be  given  by  law  a  name  that 
he  can  never  be  ashamed  of  as  long  as  he  — " 

Rouquin  broke  in  again,  hastily  and  somewhat  ap 
prehensively.  "  Let  us  save  our  fine  phrases  for  the 
banquet  board.  Ah,  I  can  see  it  in  M'sieur  Bingle's 
face !  He  will  accept  my  little  hospitality.  He  will 
come  with  Madame  to  Pierre's.  He  will  make  me  to 
be  forever  honoured  among  men.  He  — " 

"  I'll  come  on  one  condition  only,  Rouquin." 

"  And  what  is  that,  M'sieur?  " 

"  That  I  may  settle  the  bill." 

Rouquin  was  amiable.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  beamed.  "  I  should  be  the  last  to  say  no  to  any 
demand  of  my  guests.  If  it  would  give  you  pleasure, 


THE  BIRTH  OF  NAPOLEON          247 

sir,  to  pay  for  my  dinner,  I  shall  not  protest.  I  am 
the  most  courteous  of  hosts.  The  smallest  wish  of 
my  guests  must  be  gratified.  However,  sir,  I  reserve 
the  right  to  order  the  dinner  which  I  am  giving.  You 
will  not  deny  me  that,  I  am  sure." 

"  By  no  means,"  cried  Bingle.  "  Order  whatever 
you  like,  Rouquin.  I've  never  been  able  to  order  any 
thing  from  a  French  bill-of-fare  but  pate-de-foi- 
gras.  It's  your  dinner,  Rouquin,  not  mine.  But, 
we  are  going  ahead  too  fast.  We  have  not  yet  heard 
from  Monsieur  Rousseau.  Will  he  be  willing  to  join 
us?" 

"  Sure,"  said  Monsieur  Jean. 

"  And  what  about  the  baby  ?  Is  it  right  for  us  to 
take  a  small  child  to  a  public  cafe  where  there  may 
be  drinking  and  — " 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Bingle,"  cried  Rouquin,  "  pray 
have  no  thought  of  Napoleon's  comfort  on  this  oc 
casion.  I  shall  insist  upon  Madame  Rousseau  leav 
ing  him  here  —  in  my  humble  dwelling  —  until  called 
for.  That  is  to  say,  in  charge  of  my  wonderful  Fifi, 
who  will  care  for  him  completely  during  her  absence. 
He  shall  have  a  stupendous  supper  and  he  shall  be 
put  to  bed  happy.  For  once  in  his  poor  little  life 
he  shall  have  abundance  of  food  and  the  joy  of  a 
warm  nest  to  lie  in.  Ah,  it  is  a  great  day  for  Na 
poleon  !  " 

Needless  to  say,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingle  stepped  into 
a  new  and  hitherto  unsuspected  world  the  instant 
they  entered  Pierre's.  They  stepped  out  of  it  at  ten 


248  MR.  BINGLE 

o'clock  that  night  and  into  a  very  commonplace,  hum 
drum  sort  of  automobile  and  were  whisked  homeward 
by  an  astonished,  unbelieving  chauffeur.  They  had 
drunk  the  health  of  Napoleon  the  present,  Napoleon 
the  past,  and  Napoleon  the  future,  and  they  had  done 
it  from  cobwebby,  mouldy  bottles  out  of  the  utter 
most  depths  of  Pierre's  cellars.  They  were  pleas 
antly,  agreeably  conscious  of  going  home,  and  they 
talked  a  great  deal  of  the  vivacious,  though  heart 
broken  mother  of  little  Napoleon,  who,  despite  her 
shabby  frock,  was  the  life  of  the  party.  And  Mon 
sieur  Jean  —  he,  the  great  artist  and  stricken  father 
—  he  too  was  gay  and  amusing.  He  sang  a  wonder 
ful  little  French  song  that  was  applauded  violently 
by  people  at  the  nearby  tables,  and  he  drew  wonder 
ful  caricatures  of  the  musicians,  the  head  waiter,  the 
shockingly  bad  soprano,  and  of  Mr.  Bingle  himself. 
Rouquin  alone  was  nervous  and  uneasy,  but  of  course 
only  on  account  of  his  illustrious  guests.  He  was 
constantly  imploring  both  Madame  and  Monsieur 
Rousseau  to  reflect  before  speaking,  and  they  obeyed 
him  by  reflecting  in  a  thoroughly  audible  manner  so 
that  he  might  not  be  left  in  the  dark  as  to  their  in 
tentions. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bingle  said  good  night  on  the  side 
walk  in  front  of  the  restaurant.  As  the  latter  shook 
hands  with  little  Madame  Rousseau,  the  mother  of 
Napoleon  suddenly  fell  to  shivering.  All  of  the 
gaiety  fell  from  her  like  a  discarded  mantle.  Her 
piquant  face  became  drawn  and  pinched  and  her  fin- 


THE  BIRTH  OF  NAPOLEON          249 

gers  clasped  those  of  Mrs.  Bingle  in  a  fierce,  almost 
painful  grip.  She  drew  the  elder  woman  apart  from 
the  group. 

"  Oh,  Madame,  you  will  be  good  to  my  little  boy," 
she  whispered,  beating  her  breast  with  her  free  hand. 
"  I  am  not  gay.  I  am  unhappy.  I  would  not  give 
him  up  but  his  father  insists  it  is  for  the  best.  I  may 
see  him  some  time,  may  I  not?  I  love  him.  He  is 
my  joy,  my  everything.  To-night  I  sing  and  laugh, 
but  my  heart  is  not  light.  N&n,  nonl  It  is  like  a 
stone,  like  ice.  Oh,  Madame,  I  implore  you  to  be 
good  to  my  little  boy !  " 

She  was  crying  softly.  Mrs.  Bingle  put  her  arm 
about  the  bent  shoulders  and  drew  the  young  mother 
close  to  her  side. 

"  Don't  you  worry,  my  dear.  We'll  make  a  fine 
man  of  your  little  Napoleon.  Some  day  you  will  look 
with  pride  upon  him  and  say :  *  I'm  glad  I  brought 
that  man  into  the  world,  even  though  he  doesn't  know 
it.'  And  I  am  glad  that  you  have  cried.  It  makes 
another  woman  of  you.  I  would  say  '  God  bless  you,' 
Madame  Rousseau,  if  it  were  not  that  he  has  already 
blessed  you." 

Later  on  in  the  night,  Rouquin  and  his  two  com 
panions  paused  at  the  foot  of  a  Sixth  Avenue  Ele 
vated  station. 

"  Good  night,   old  fellow,"   said  Rouquin,  giving 
Jean's    hand    a    mighty    grip.     "  You    are    a   true 
friend." 

Then  Jean  said  good  night  cheerily  and  walked  off 


250  MR.  SINGLE 

down  the  street,  whistling  gaily,  as  one  who  has  com 
pleted  an  honest  day's  work. 

I  think  I  have  neglected  to  mention  that  Rouquin 
was  an  exceedingly  good-looking,  fascinating  chap  of 
twenty-eight  or  thirty,  and  unmarried. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

TROUBLE,  TROUBLE,  TROUBLE! 

CHAPTER  THIRTEEN  is  an  unlucky  one  for  Mr. 
Bingle.  Many  unpleasant  things  are  crowded  into 
the  space  devoted  to  this  division  of  the  narrative, 
although  in  the  matter  of  time  we  leap  from  early 
March  to  the  fifth  of  July  with  all  the  swiftness  of 
one  who  races  at  break-neck  speed  to  get  away  from 
consequences,  or  to  put  a  disagreeable  task  as  far  be 
hind  as  possible. 

In  the  first  place,  Kathleen  was  permitted  to  re 
main  with  the  Singles  far  beyond  the  date  set  for 
her  departure  in  the  custody  of  a  new  set  of  parents. 
It  so  happened  that  on  the  very  day  selected  for  her 
departure,  which  was  early  in  March,  Rutherford  and 
Imogene  came  down  with  a  fever  and  a  rash.  Dr. 
Fiddler  was  summoned  from  the  city.  Just  as  he 
entered  the  broad  portals  at  the  front  of  the  house, 
two  of  the  nurse-maids,  Stokes  and  Brown,  walked 
swiftly  down  the  back  stairs  with  their  suitcases  and 
bandboxes  in  their  hands. 

Mr.  Bingle  was  notified  that  they  wanted  to  see 
him  at  once  in  the  library.  They  appeared  to  be  in 
a  great  hurry  to  catch  a  train  for  the  city.  From 
time  to  time,  while  they  waited  for  the  master  of 

the  house,  they  cast  nervous,  apprehensive  looks  in 

251 


252  MR.  BINGLE 

the  direction  of  the  door  through  which  they  had 
entered  the  room.  Their  apprehensions  apparently 
were  justified  by  the  abrupt  arrival  upon  the  scene 
of  Wright  and  Quinlan,  the  other  nurse-maids,  both 
of  whom  were  hot  and  flushed  and  still  in  a  state  of 
frowsy  preparation  for  a  journey.  They  too  had 
their  suitcases  and  bundles  and  they  too  were  trying 
to  balance  unfastened  hats  upon  the  top  of  agitated 
heads. 

Mr.  Bingle  came  into  the  room  just  in  time  to  hear 
each  of  the  four  accusing  all  of  the  others  of  trying 
to  sneak  off  and  leave  her  with  the  bag  to  hold,  or 
words  to  that  effect.  With  his  entrance,  however, 
each  of  the  hasty  nurse-maids  was  reminded  of  a 
dreadfully  sick  relative  in  town  and  of  the  necessity 
for  instant  departure.  What  they  wanted  of  Mr. 
Bingle  was  their  pay  —  and  a  reference. 

The  poor  gentleman  was  flabbergasted.  He 
wanted  to-  know  what  had  happened.  They  told 
him  in  one  voice  that  it  was  nearly  train-time  and  that 
nothing  had  happened,  and  would  he  please  hurry. 
When  he  suggested  that  they  should  wait  and  see 
Mrs.  Bingle,  they  asked  him  to  say  good-bye  for 
them,  and  made  for  the  door,  crowding  one  another 
rudely  in  their  eagerness  to  be  off.  Brown  saved  the 
situation  for  herself  and  her  companions  by  shrilly 
declaring  that  she  would  drop  him  a  line  from  New 
York,  advising  him  where  to  send  her  money  and  the 
reference,  and  for  him  not  to  bother  now,  she  would 
trust  him,  of  course.  And  then  they  all  trooped  out 


TROUBLE,  TROUBLE,  TROUBLE!   253 

of  the  library  and  rushed  for  the  front  door.  Three 
of  them  reached  the  outer  air  and  were  gone  forever, 
but  one  of  them,  Miss  Stokes,  was  turned  back  by  the 
determined  Watson,  who  clutched  her  by  the  arm  and 
whispered  a  few  sharp,  convincing  sentences  into  her 
ear.  She  set  down  her  suitcase  and  began  to  cry, 
whereupon  the  footman  kissed  her  and  said  that  he'd 
despise  her  if  she  didn't  stand  by  Mr.  Bingle  now  that 
he  needed  her  so  much ;  and  Stokes  said  that  she  was 
crying  because  she  hated  herself  for  even  thinking  of 
leaving  and  that  the  other  girls  were  the  scum  of  the 
earth,  take  it  from  her. 

Well,  it  turned  out  that  the  two  children  had 
scarlet  fever.  Brown  happened  to  know  that 
Imogene  had  been  exposed  to  the  disease  during  a 
surreptitious  visit  to  the  cottage  of  the  station  agent, 
whose  wife  it  appears  was  a  close  friend  of  the  nurse 
maid,  and  whose  baby  thrived  immensely  on  the  rich 
foods  from  the  Bingle  establishment.  So  the  instant 
the  rash  appeared,  Brown  began  packing  her  suitcase 
and  trunk.  She  tried  to  get  away  without  letting 
the  other  girls  into  the  secret,  but  they  suspected. 
What  might  have  been  a  dignified  resignation  on 
Brown's  part,  became  a  stampede. 

That  afternoon  the  Force  automobile  came  for 
Kathleen.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Force  were  confronted  by 
Diggs  as  they  came  up  the  steps.  He  gave  them  the 
news. 

"  The  deuce  you  say,"  said  Force,  backing  down 
the  steps.  "Has  she  been  exposed?" 


MR.  BINGLE 

Mr.  Bingle  appeared  in  the  doorway.  "  Come  in, 
please,"  he  said,  covering  his  bare  head  with  a  news 
paper.  "  Got  some  bad  news  for  you." 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean,  Bingle,  by  running 
around  among  the  riff-raff  of  all  New  York,  picking 
up  germs  and  bringing  'em  out  here  to  a  house  full 
of  children?  See  what  you've  done,  gallivanting 
around  with  Rouquin's  cheap  — " 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Force !  Don't  blame  poor  lit 
tle  Napoleon.  It  takes  ten  days  or  so  for  a  case 
to  develop  and  I  saw  Napoleon  only  two  days 
ago.  Come  in,  won't  you?  I  can't  stand  here  in 
the—" 

"No,  thank  you,"  exploded  Mr.  Force.  "I've 
never  had  the  infernal  thing,  and  it's  usually  fatal  in 
adults.  I  wouldn't  expose  myself  to  it  for  a  million 
dollars.  Shut  the  door,  Diggs,  confound  you!  Do 
you  want  to  have  the  microbes  blowing  out  here  into 
my  very  face?  Get  back  in  the  car,  dear!  Lord, 
what  a  nice  mess  it  is.  Hang  it  all,  Bingle,  didn't  I 
tell  you  in  so  many  words  not  to  let  Kathleen  play 
around  with  all  those  little  — " 

"  Kathleen  hasn't  got  it  —  yet,"  said  Mr.  Bingle 
hotly.  "  Only  two  of  'em  have  shown  — -" 

"  We  cannot  consider  taking  her  away  with  us 
now,"  said  Mrs.  Force,  with  decision.  "  You  can't 
expect  us  to  expose  ourselves  to  — " 

"  No,  you  can't,  Bingle,"  broke  in  Mr.  Force. 
"  It's  not  to  be  thought  of.  She's  got  to  stay  here 
until  —  until  the  thing's  over." 


TROUBLE,  TROUBLE,  TROUBLE!   255 

"  That  is  to  say,  until  she  gets  well  or  dies,"  said 
Mr.  Single,  raising  his  voice. 

"  Oh,  I'll  send  out  a  good  doctor  and  a  couple  of 
nurses.  And,  see  here,  I  don't  want  this  child  cooped 
up  with  all  the  rest  of  'em.  I  want  her  placed  in  a 
separate  room,  as  far  as  possible  from  the  — " 

"By  jingo!"  cried  Mr.  Bingle.  "I  believe  it 
would  be  a  good  thing  for  the  child  if  she  caught  it 
and  died.  Good  day,  Mrs.  Force.  Better  move  rap 
idly,  Force.  You  see,  I've  been  exposed  —  and  so 
has  Diggs.  We're  alive  with  microbes." 

And  that  is  why  Kathleen  did  not  go  South  early 
in  March  —  not  until  late  in  April,  for  that  matter, 
wThen  she  had  completely  recovered  from  a  particu 
larly  stubborn  illness,  and  long  after  all  of  the  others, 
except  little  Imogene,  were  up  and  about.  Imogene 
died. 

Miss  Fairweather  was  the  angel  in  this  season  of 
tribulation.  She  was  true  blue.  Day  and  night  she 
gave  up  to  the  care  of  the  sick  ones,  and  when  it  was 
all  over  the  roses  in  her  cheeks  were  missing,  but  the 
light  in  her  eyes  was  bright. 

Then  Kathleen  went  away.  Mr.  Force,  consid 
erably  humbled,  apologised  to  Mr.  Bingle  for  as  many 
things  as  he  could  remember,  and  Mrs.  Force,  after 
all,  did  condescend  to  introduce  Mrs.  Bingle  to  her 
own  exclusive  dressmaker.  Napoleon  came.  Mr. 
Bingle  watched  the  newspapers  for  an  account  of  the 
suicide  of  Monsieur  and  Madame  Rousseau,  but  no 
such  event  was  reported.  No  doubt  the  approach 


256  MR.  BINGLE 

of  spring  deterred  them.  They  would  probably  wait 
until  cold  weather  set  in  again. 

In  order  to  encourage  the  struggling  Rousseau, 
he  bought,  through  Rouquin,  a  rather  startling  paint 
ing  by  the  young  artist,  in  which  a  herd  of  red  cat 
tle  partook  placidly  of  the  skyline  and  a  pallid  wind 
mill  dominated  the  foreground.  Later  on,  an  expert 
informed  him  that  the  red  cattle  were  rocks  on  the 
edge  of  a  pool  and  the  windmill  was  a  lady  making 
ready  to  dive  into  the  water  for  a  lonely  swim.  The 
painting  was  signed,  but  the  name  was  not  Rous 
seau.  It  was  Fauret.  Rouquin  explained  the  dis 
crepancy.  He  said  that  young  Rousseau  preferred 
to  paint  under  an  assumed  name  —  in  truth,  it  was 
his  maternal  grandmother's  name  —  rather  than  to 
have  his  canvases  confused  with  those  of  the  aca 
demic,  old-school  Barbizon  painter.  He  was  above 
trading  on  a  name  that  was  fast  becoming  obso 
lete! 

Then  there  came  the  astonishing  disappearance  of 
young  Frederick.  The  third  day  after  Kathleen's 
departure,  Frederick  turned  up  missing.  A  week 
passed  before  the  detectives  found  him  in  Washing 
ton,  penniless,  half-starved  but  valiant.  He  had  run 
away  from  home  to  find  Kathleen,  for,  in  his  fickle 
heart,  he  had  come  to  realise  that  it  was  she  whom 
he  loved  and  not  old  Miss  Fairweather  at  all.  Ex 
treme  hunger  and  an  acute  attack  of  home-sickness 
dampened  his  ardent  regard  for  the  distant  Kathleen, 
for  the  time  being  at  least,  and  he  was  quite  content 


TROUBLE,  TROUBLE,  TROUBLE!  257 

to  return  to  Seawood,  where,  after  all,  he  could  have 
all  he  wanted  to  eat  and  at  the  same  time  reflect  audi 
bly  on  the  fact  that  he  was  a  real  hero. 

Envy  induced  Wilberforce  to  run  away  a  few  days 
after  Frederick  returned  with  his  great  tales  of  ad 
venture,  privation  and  gallantry.  He  got  no  farther 
from  home  than  White  Plains,  and  was  back  at  Sea- 
wood  before  nine  o'clock  at  night  on  the  day  of  his 
flight,  yet  he  had  enjoyed  so  many  hair-raising  ex 
periences,  rescued  so  many  lovely  girls  from  all  man 
ner  of  perils,  and  soundly  thrashed  so  many  unprin 
cipled  varlets,  that  even  Melissa's  narratives  became 
weak  and  puerile  when  put  up  against  the  tales  he 
told  to  his  pop-eyed  brothers  and  sisters.  He  did 
not  mention  the  sound  thrashing  that  he  sustained 
at  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Bingle,  however,  nor  did  he 
attempt  to  account  for  the  bitter  howls  that  began  to 
issue  from  behind  the  closed  library  doors  almost  sim 
ultaneously  with  his  return  to  Seawood.  These 
howls,  it  may  be  added,  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with 
the  decline  of  enthusiasm  among  the  other  boys. 
Wilberforce's  adventure  in  the  library  was  the  one 
that  made  the  deepest  impression  on  them. 

And  this  summary  paddling  of  young  Wilberforce, 
in  direct  opposition  to  the  wishes  of  his  foster-father, 
who  would  have  punished  him  in  a  less  drastic  fash 
ion,  brings  us  to  the  gravest  of  Mr.  Bingle's  worries : 
the  curious  change  in  Mrs.  Bingle's  attitude  toward 
the  children. 

From  being  a  loving,  kind,  sympathetic  mother  she 


258  MR.  BINGLE 

lapsed  into  the  opposite  in  every  particular.  Her 
querulousness,  impatience,  even  antipathy  became 
more  and  more  marked  as  the  summer  advanced 
and  Mr.  Bingle,  in  dire  distress,  consulted  Dr.  Fid 
dler.  She  scolded  incessantly,  spanked  frequently, 
complained  from  morning  till  night,  and  suffered 
headaches,  neuritis  and  kindred  ailments  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  good  doctor  might  well  have  been  par 
doned  for  looking  a  bit  wiser  than  ever  before  and 
suggesting  a  change  of  scene  and  environment  for 
the  lady,  whose  nerves  undoubtedly  had  been  affected 
by  the  troubles  of  the  past  few  weeks. 

Every  one  about  the  place  observed  and  secretly 
commented  on  the  amazing  change  in  the  mistress  of 
the  house.  The  calm,  serene,  level-headed  manager 
of  Mr.  Bingle's  household  had  developed  into  a 
cranky,  dyspeptic  tyrant  whose  pleasure  it  was  to  be 
unfailingly  displeased  with  everything,  and  who,  de 
spite  the  fact  that  she  was  not  yet  forty-three,  de 
clared  that  she  was  a  broken  old  woman  without  the 
remotest  hope  of  ever  seeing  a  well  day  again  in  her 
life. 

She  was  quite  positive  that  she  suffered  from  a 
dreadful  and  incurable  malady.  She  knew  the  symp 
toms,  she  had  every  one  of  them,  and  no  doctor  in 
the  world  could  convince  her  to  the  contrary  —  so 
she  said.  Her  greatest  desire  was  to  go  to  Peekskill, 
where  she  could  find  peace  and  quiet  and  unutterable 
relief  from  the  annoyances  caused  by  the  little  nui 
sances  that  Mr.  Bingle  had  taken  under  his  wing.  In 


TROUBLE,  TROUBLE,  TROUBLE!  259 

Peekskill  her  mother  and  sister  still  lived  the  simple 
life,  and  that  was  what  she  wanted  more  than  any 
thing  else. 

Mr.  Bingle's  gentle  argument  that  he  could  not 
go  to  Peekskill  with  her  met  with  a  petulant  response. 
She  made  it  plain  to  him  that  she  realised  his  prefer 
ence  for  the  children  and  that  she  was  no  longer  of 
any  use  to  him  as  a  companion  or  helpmate.  For 
her  own  part,  she'd  like  to  see  them  all  in  Jericho  — 
meaning  the  children,  of  course.  All  of  which 
shocked  and  distressed  poor  Mr.  Bingle  beyond  ex 
pression. 

"  What  is  it,  Doctor  ?  Physically  she  seems  to  be 
all  right.  Can  it  be  that  she  is  going  to  pieces 
mentally?  Why,  she's  always  been  the  most  loving, 
gentle  — " 

"  Nerves,  Bingle  —  plain  nerves.  She'll  be  all 
right  in  a  little  while,  I'm  sure.  I'll  have  a  look  at 
her  again  next  week.  In  the  meantime,  don't  pull 
such  a  long  face.  She  is  as  sound  as  a  dollar  physi 
cally,  as  you  say.  Leave  her  to  me,  old  fellow.  Don't 
cross  her,  don't  let  her  see  too  much  of  the  children, 
and  don't  object  to  her  going  to  visit  her  mother  in 
—  where  is  it  ?  —  if  she  wants  to  do  so.  By  the  way, 
Bingle,  I  wouldn't  adopt  any  more  children  at  pres 
ent,  if  I  were  you.  Wait  for  a  year  or  two  and  see 
how  she  feels  about  it." 

"  Would  you  advise  a  trip  to  Europe  ?  We've 
been  contemplating  it  for  the  past  ten  years,  but  — 
I'm  ashamed  to  admit  it  —  we're  both  scared  out  of 


260  MR.  BINGLE 

our  boots  when  we  think  of  being  out  there  on  the 
Atlantic  with  two  or  three  miles  of  water  under  our 
beds  every  night  and  icebergs  floating  all  around  us. 
We  want  to  see  Paris  and  London,  of  course.  Every 
one  ought  to  see  'em  if  he  can  afford  it.  If  you  think 
it  advisable,  I'll  take  her  across  this  summer.  Maybe 
if  she  got  to  Paris  she'd  forget  she  ever  wanted  to  go 
to  Peekskill." 

"  I'll  let  you  know  what  I  think  of  it  later  on,  Bin- 
gle.  We'll  see.  I've  never  seen  your  garden  look 
ing  better  than  it  looks  this  summer.  You  have  a 
treasure  in  that  man  Edgecomb.  Come,  let's  stroll 
down  to  the  Italian  — " 

"  Not  just  now,  Doctor,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  hastily. 
"  I  think  Miss  Fairweather  and  Flanders  are  down 
there  enjoying  the  shade  and  the  music  of  the  foun 
tain." 

The  servant  question  was  another  bothersome  thing 
for  him  to  contend  with.  They  were  dissatisfied  and 
on  the  point  of  leaving,  especially  the  new  nurse 
maids.  A  general  increase  in  wages  served  as  a  tem 
porary  restraint,  and  a  second  increase  was  plainly  in 
sight.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Mr.  Bingle  pos 
sessed  a  secret  unshared  with  his  wife :  he  did  not  tell 
her  of  the  raise  in  wages. 

Flanders  announced  that  rehearsals  for  the  play 
would  be  started  early  in  July.  The  company  had 
been  chosen  and  a  theatre  taken,  in  his  own  name. 
Mr.  Bingle  preferred  to  remain  a  silent  and  unrec 
ognised  instrument  in  the  enterprise.  He  remem- 


TROUBLE,  TROUBLE,  TROUBLE!  261 

bered  in  time  that  he  was  a  deacon  in  the  church  hard 
by,  and  was  sorely  afraid  that  while  his  own  con 
science  might  be  perfectly  clear  in  the  matter  it 
wasn't  by  any  means  certain  that  the  congregation 
possessed  the  same  kind  of  a  conscience. 

It  became  necessary,  therefore,  for  Miss  Fair- 
weather  to  give  up  her  place  and  prepare  for  the 
task  ahead  of  her,  especially  as  her  role  called  for  a 
bit  of  dancing  in  the  second  act,  demanding  consid 
erable  preliminary  work  under  the  instruction  of  a 
teacher.  Mrs.  Bingle  was  rather  glad  to  see  her  go. 
Secretly  she  was  beginning  to  mistrust  the  young 
lady's  intentions  where  Mr.  Bingle  was  concerned. 
It  was  her  recently  formed  opinion  that  one  can  never 
trust  an  actress,  no  matter  how  closely  she  is  watched 
or  how  frankly  she  looks  you  in  the  eye  while  you  are 
watching. 

Mr.  Bingle  called  Miss  Fairweather  and  the  good- 
looking  Flanders  into  his  study  a  few  days  before  the 
time  set  for  her  departure.  He  closed  the  door  care 
fully  behind  them  and  then  crossed  over  to  glance  out 
of  the  window  into  the  garden,  where  Mrs.  Bingle 
was  chatting  earnestly  with  Dr.  Fiddler  in  the  shade 
of  a  glorious  oak.  Mr.  Bingle  had  had  something 
on  his  mind  for  a  long,  long  time.  The  fate  of  Agnes 
Glenn  was  at  the  back  of  it. 

"  When  do  you  two  expect  to  be  married  ?  "  he  asked 
bluntly,  taking  them  both  by  surprise.  They  turned 
quite  red  and  looked  at  each  other  in  evident  dis 
may. 


MR.  BINGLE 

"  Why,  we  —  er  —  really,  Mr.  Bingle,"  began 
Flanders,  "  we  thought  we'd  wait  until  we  see  how 
the  piece  gets  over  and  then  — "  He  looked  to  the 
embarrassed  Miss  Fairweather  for  help. 

"  If  everything  goes  well,  Mr.  Bingle,"  she  said, 
nervously,  "  we  sha'n't  hesitate  an  instant.  Of 
course,  if  it  is  a  failure,  we'll  —  well,  it  really  would 
be  wise  to  wait  for  a  little  while  until  — " 

"  That's  just  the  thing  I  want  to  get  at,"  said 
Mr.  Bingle.  "Don't  put  it  off,  my  friends.  Get 
married  here,  Miss  Fairweather,  to-morrow,  next 
day.  I  am  your  friend,  and  yours,  Dick.  My  wed 
ding  present  shall  be  —  well,  I  must  ask  you  to  leave 
it  to  me.  I  love  you  both.  You  have  meant  a  great 
deal  to  me.  There  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  for  you, 
nothing  I  would  not  shield  you  from  if  it  lay  in  my 
power  to  do  so.  So,  I  ask  you,  my  friends,  to  be 
married  here  in  my  house  before — "  Emotion 
choked  him.  He  had  been  standing  near  the  window 
at  the  beginning  of  his  disjointed  remarks.  As  they 
progressed,  he  approached  them  with  his  hands  ex 
tended. 

The  young  couple  grasped  his  hands  and  Flanders 
spoke. 

"We  can't  do  it,  Mr.  Bingle.  It  is  out  of  the 
question.  I'm  sorry  —  terribly  sorry.  You  are  a 
corker,  sir.  I — " 

"  For  goodness'  sake,"  began  Mr.  Bingle,  implor 
ingly. 

"  We  would  jump  at  the  chance,  Mr.  Bingle,  to  be 


TROUBLE,  TROUBLE,  TROUBLE!  263 

married  here,  if  it  were  not  for  one  thing,"  went  on 
Flanders,  and  then  looked  at  Miss  Fairweather. 

"And  what  in  the  world  can  that  be?  "  cried  Mr. 
Bingle. 

"  We  were  married  two  months  ago,  Mr.  Bingle," 
said  Mrs.  Richard  Flanders  guiltily. 

It  was  some  time  before  they  could  make  him  be 
lieve  it.  She  revealed  her  wedding  ring  —  suspended 
about  her  neck  —  and  then  Mr.  Bingle  kissed  her  very 
soberly  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  Two  months  ago !  "  he  said,  waveringly.  "  And 
God  bless  my  soul,  you  spent  your  honeymoon  nurs 
ing  a  lot  of  sick  children!  Well,  well,  it  beats  all! 
It  isn't  too  late  for  a  wedding  present.  I'll  — " 

Flanders  interrupted  him.  "  It  is  too  late,  sir," 
he  said  firmly.  "  We  only  ask  for  your  blessing  and 
your  good  wishes,  Mr.  Bingle.  You  have  already 
given  us  too  much.  We  shall  never  be  out  of  debt 
to  you.  The  play,  the  theatre  — " 

"Ah,  but  I  haven't  spent  a  nickel  on  the  play, 
you  blundering  booby,"  cried  Mr.  Bingle  heartily. 
"  That  is  still  to  come.  I  want  to  do  something 


"  It  will  come  soon  enough,  sir,"  said  Flanders 
firmly.  "  We  can't  abuse  a  friendship  like  yours." 

"  By  George,"  cried  Mr.  Bingle ;  "  you  are  a  fine 
fellow,  Dick,  as  I've  always  said.  You  are  a  gentle 
man." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Flanders  simply,  for  he 
was  a  gentleman. 


264*  MR.  BINGLE 

On  the  first  day  of  July  the  incomparable  Diggs 
gave  notice.  It  was  like  a  clap  out  of  a  clear  sky. 

"  My  goodness,  Diggs,  you  don't  —  you  can't 
mean  it,"  gasped  Mr.  Bingle. 

"I  do  mean  it,  sir,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  sir,"  said 
Diggs.  "  It  was  on  my  mind  to  mention  the  matter 
last  spring,  sir,  but  the  hunf ortunate  quarantine  made 
it  quite  out  of  the  question.  I  wish  to  state,  sir,  that 
I  would  not  'ave  left  your  service  at  a  time  like  that. 
You  'ave  been  the  kindest,  most  thoughtful  of  mas 
ters,  sir,  and  I  trust  I  shall  never  be  the  man  to  go 
back  on  a  gentleman  who  —  er  —  I  mean  to  say,  sir, 
a  gentleman  who  deserves  the  best  of  treatment  from 
his  servants." 

"  I'm  sure  I  appreciate  your  good  opinion,  Diggs. 
But,  tell  me,  is  it  a  matter  of  wages?  If  it  is,  I 
think  we  may  be  able  to  arbitrate  the  question." 

66  No,  sir.  Wages  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,  sir. 
My  wages  'ave  been  quite  satisfactory,  as  my  savings 
will  prove.  'As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mr.  Bingle,  I  'ave 
laid  by  a  very  neat  little  sum,  which  I  took  the  liberty 
of  investing  in  a  small  business  before  giving  notice, 
sir,  the  hopportunity  presenting  itself  while  you  were 
so  worried  over  the  sickness  that  I  felt  it  would  be 
quite  wrong  to  disturb  you  with  my  affairs.  We 
'ave  purchased  a  green-grocer's  business  in  Colum 
bus  Avenue  —  you  might  call  it  a  sort  of  general 
business,  fruit,  vegetables,  hegg  —  eggs,  coal,  fire 
wood  and  vinous  liquors,  sir.  We  hexpect  to  take 
possession  in  a  fortnight,  sir." 


TROUBLE,  TROUBLE,  TROUBLE!  265 

"We?     Have  you  a  partner?" 

"Yes,  sir.     Watson,  sir." 

"Watson?  Is  —  is  he  leaving  me,  too?  Upon 
my  soul,  Diggs  —  this  is  too  bad !  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  really  is.  I  happreciate  what  it 
means,  sir,  as  I  told  Watson  when  he  gave  notice  to 
me.  I  says  to  him,  says  I :  '  Watson,  Mr.  Bingle 
will  'ave  a  time  of  it  getting  any  one  to  fill  your 
place,'  and  Watson  says  to  me :  6  And  what  about 
you,  Mr.  Diggs?  '  And  I  says  '  Pooh! '  " 

"Watson  gave  notice  to  you,  did  he?  When  did 
this  happen?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  The  servants  usually  give  notice  to 
the  butler.  He  did  it  the  day  we  bought  out  the  busi 
ness,  sir,"  said  Diggs,  surprised  that  Mr.  Bingle 
should  have  asked  so  simple  a  question. 

"  I  see.  Well,  Diggs,  I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry 
I  am  to  have  you  go.  You  have  been  here  for  eight 
years.  You  are  the  best  butler  I've  ever  known  — 
and  the  only  one,  I  may  as  well  add.  I  wish  you  the 
best  of  luck.  Shake  hands,  Diggs.  It  may  interest 
you  to  know  that  I  look  upon  you  as  the  best  friend 
I've  ever  had.  You  are  the  only  man  I've  known  in 
the  past  ten  years  who  has  really  treated  me  as  an 
equal.  You've  done  this,  Diggs,  knowing  full  well 
that  by  rights  I  am  nothing  more  than  a  bookkeeper 
and  never  will  be  more  than  that,  no  matter  how 
many  millions  I  may  possess.  You  have  made  it  your 
business  to  live  down  to  me,  and  so  I  am  your  debtor. 
Everybody  else,  from  Mr.  Force  to  the  telegraph 


266  MR.  BINGLE 

operator  over  in  the  railroad  station,  looks — but, 
why  go  into  all  this?  You  are  going,  and  I  wish 
you  the  best  of  luck.  The  same  to  Watson,  too,  if 
you  please ! " 

"  I  shall  mention  it  to  Watson,  sir.  He  will  be 
very  much  gratified." 

"  And  I  may  be  able  to  throw  quite  a  little  busi 
ness  in  your  way,  Diggs.  We  shall  make  it  a  point 
to  buy  our  supplies  from  the  firm  of  —  is  it  to  be 
Diggs  &  Watson?" 

"  No,  sir.  It  is  to  be  called  the  Covent  Garden 
Consolidated  Fruit  Company,  sir.  There  is  another 
little  matter  I'd  like  to  speak  about,  Mr.  Bingle." 
Diggs  was  quite  red  in  the  face.  "Ahem!  I  am 
also  compelled  to  say  that  Melissa  has  given  notice, 
sir." 

"  Melissa !     Impossible !     Not  Melissa?  " 

"Melissa  Taylor,  sir." 

"Why,  she  is  the  last  one  that  I—"  Words 
failed  him.  He  looked  quite  helpless  in  the  face  of 
this  staggering  blow. 

"  I  'ad  a  gr.eat  deal  of  difficulty,  sir,  in  persuading 
'er  to  leave  your  employment.  She  was  most  de 
termined  about  it  at  first,  sir." 

"You  —  you,  Diggs,  persuaded  her  to  leave? 
Ton  my  soul,  that  was  rather  a  shabby  thing  to  — " 

"  Oh,  I  trust  you  won't  look  at  it  in  the  wrong 
way,  sir,"  cried  Diggs  in  distress.  "  Melissa  'as 
merely  consented  to  become  my  wife,  sir.  No  offence 


TROUBLE,  TROUBLE,  TROUBLE!  267 

intended,  I  hassure  you.  No  underhanded  work  on 
my—" 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  "  cried  Mr.  Bingle.  "  Me 
lissa  is  going  to  marry  you?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  Next  Thursday  week,  sir.  And  also, 
sir,  I  am  obliged  to  announce  that  Miss  Stokes,  the 
first  nurse-maid,  is  to  become  Mrs.  Watson  on  the 
same  day." 

Mr.  Bingle  sat  down  again.     "  My  gracious  !  " 

"  She  also  gives  notice,  sir,  through  me.  Did  I 
thank  you,  sir,  for  your  generous  offer  to  trade  with 
us  when  we  take  over  the  business?  I  was  that  rat 
tled,  sir,  I  fear  I  forgot  to  — " 

"  It  is  taken  for  granted,  Diggs.  And  you  — • 
you  all  leave  us  on  the  fourteenth  of  July  ?  " 

"  If  quite  convenient,  Mr.  Bingle." 

"The  anniversary  of  the  fall  of  the  Bastile," 
mused  the  distressed  master  of  the  house. 

"  Oh,  I  hassure  you,  sir,  that  really  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it,"  said  Diggs. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  train  a  new  lot 
to  take  your  places." 

"  I  would  suggest  that  you  advance  Hughes  to  the 
place  of  butler.  He  is  a  very  competent  man." 

"  We'll  see.  And  now  you  may  say  to  the  other 
three  members  of  the  Covent  Garden  Fruit  Company 
that  I  accept  their  resignations  with  regret,  and  wish 
all  of  them  joy." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.     I  shall  speak  to  Watson  and 


268  MR.  BINGLE 

Miss  Stokes,  and  I  shall  ask  Watson  to  carry  your 
message  to  Miss  Taylor." 

"  Can't  you  attend  to  that  part  of  it  yourself, 
Diggs?" 

Diggs  stiffened.  "  I  regret  to  say,  sir,  that  Miss 
Taylor  and  I  'ave  had  a  —  what  you  might  describe, 
sir,  as  a  bit  of  a  tiff.  She  hasn't  permitted  me  to 
speak  to  her  since  yesterday  morning.  It  will  be 
quite  all  right,  however,  to  'ave  Watson  'andle  the 
matter.  Thank  you,  sir." 

The  fifth  of  July,  as  usual,  came  close  upon  the 
heels  of  the  one  day  in  the  year  that  men  with  large 
families  of  growing  children  feel  perfectly  justified 
in  characterising  as  All-Fools'  Day.  The  Bingle 
youngsters,  regardless  of  their  missing  antecedents, 
celebrated  the  day  as  unqualified  American  citizens. 
They  set  fire  to  the  stables,  shot  Roman  candles  into 
the  kitchen,  bounced  torpedoes  off  of  the  statuary  in 
the  gardens,  hurled  firecrackers  great  and  small  at 
one  another,  and  came  through  the  day  with  one 
thumb  missing,  four  faces  powder-burnt,  and  one  arm 
fractured  in  two  places.  (Rutherford  fell  off  of  the 
balcony  while  being  chased  by  an  escaped  pin-wheel.) 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  after  relating  the  horrors 
of  the  day  to  Dr.  Fiddler  on  the  morning  of  the 
fifth,  "  I  am  glad  to  say  that  we  got  through  with 
it  alive.  How  did  you  find  Mrs.  Bingle?  She  was 
pretty  well  done-up  by  the  noise." 

"  She's  all  right,  Bingle.  Don't  worry.  Who  is 
this1  coming  up  the  drive  in  such  haste  ?  " 


TROUBLE,  TROUBLE,  TROUBLE!  269 

Mr.  Bingle  peered  intently  over  his  glasses. 

"  That?  Why,  'pon  my  soul,  Fiddler,  that  is  Mr. 
Sigsbee.  My  lawyer,  you  know.  Now,  what  in  the 
world  can  be  bringing  him  out  here?  By  George,  I 
: —  I  wonder !  "  He  leaned  against  a  porch  pillar, 
assailed  by  a  sudden  weakness. 

"  You  wonder  —  what  ?  " 

"  I  wonder  if  the  Supreme  Court  sits  on  the  day 
after  the  Fourth  of  July." 

"  The  Court  is  late  this  year  in  arriving  at  the  sum 
mer  recess,  that  much  I  can  tell  you.  Are  you  ex 
pecting  a  decision  in  the  case  of  Hooper  et  al.  vs. 
Bingle?" 

"  I  am,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  mopping  his  brow,  whicH 
was  wet  with  a  very  chilly  moisture. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


MR.  SIGSBEE  remained  for  luncheon.  He  did  not 
return  to  the  city  until  late  in  the  afternoon.  All 
day  long  an  atmosphere  of  gloom,  not  altogether  at 
tributable  to  reaction  from  the  Fourth,  pervaded  the 
house.  By  that  strange,  mysterious  form  of  con 
tagion  described  as  "  sensing,"  the  servants  became 
infected  by  the  depression;  questioning  looks  were 
answered  by  questioning  looks ;  conversation  was  car 
ried  on  in  lowered  tones  and  confined  almost  ex 
clusively  to  matters  pertaining  to  the  work  in  hand ; 
furtive  looks  were  bestowed  upon  the  door  of  Mr. 
Bingle's  study  and,  later  on,  directed  with  some  mis 
giving  upon  the  closed  transom  above  Mrs.  Bingle's 
bedroom  door.  To  the  certain  knowledge  of  the 
oldest  servant  on  the  place,  this  transom  had  never 
been  lowered  before. 

This  much  was  known  to  three  persons :  the  butler, 
one  of  the  footmen  and  Melissa:  shortly  after  the 
strange  gentleman  entered  Mr.  Bingle's  study  with 
the  master,  the  mistress  and  Dr.  Fiddler,  Mrs.  Bingle 
was  led  to  her  room  by  the  doctor  and  her  husband, 
moaning  and  wringing  her  hands.  The  trained  nurse 
who  had  come  down  to  take  care  of  Rutherford  was 
hastily  summoned  to  the  bedroom,  and  later  on  Diggs 

270 


THE  LAW'S  LAST  WORD  271 

was  instructed  to  telephone  to  Dr.  Fiddler's  office  in 
town  with  an  order  to  his  assistant  to  send  out  a  sec 
ond  nurse  without  delay. 

At  dinner,  Mr.  Bingle  was  singularly  pale  and  pre- 
occupied.  His  doctor  and  his  lawyer  talked  of  the 
attitude  of  the  Administration  at  Washington  in  re 
gard  to  the  Mexican  question  and  other  problems  in 
which  a  keen  observer  would  have  remarked  that  they 
were  not  at  all  interested  —  and  in  which  Diggs  and 
Hughes  certainly  had  no  present  interest.  They  ate 
quite  heartily,  as  doctors  and  lawyers  are  prone  to  do 
when  the  opportunity  presents  itself.  Immediately 
after  dinner  they  repaired  to  the  study  and  closed 
the  door.  All  evening  there  were  telephone  conver 
sations  with  New  York  and  Washington,  and  fre 
quent  visits  to  Mrs.  Bingle's  room  by  the  doctor  and 
Mr.  Bingle. 

At  ten  o'clock  Mr.  Bingle  walked  out  upon  the 
moon-lit  lawn  and  gazed  about  him  in  all  directions, 
taking  in  the  terraces,  the  park,  the  gardens,  and  last 
of  all  the  splendid  fa9ade  of  the  great  house  itself. 
Head  gardener  Edgecomb  approached  and  to  him 
Mr.  Bingle  said: 

"  It  was  a  beautiful  place  —  a  beautiful  place,  in 
deed,"  and  then  straightway  returned  to  the  house. 
Edgecomb,  slack  grammarian  though  he  was,  made 
note  of  the  fact  that  he  spoke  of  the  house  in  the  past 
tense,  quite  as  if  it  were  a  thing  that  had  ceased  to 
exist. 

The  children  had  had  their  supper  when  Melissa 


<TO  MR.  BINGLE 

came  down  from  Mrs.  Bingle's  room,  whither  she  had 
been  summoned  in  some  haste  at  five  o'clock.  She 
promptly  announced  that  they  were  to  skip  off  to  bed 
at  once  as  their  mother's  head  was  that  bad  that  she 
was  not  to  be  disturbed  by  the  slightest  sound.  To 
the  inquiries  of  her  fellow-servants,  Melissa  curtly 
replied  that  it  was  none  of  their  business  what  had 
happened  and  if  they  had  any  business  they'd  better 
attend  to  it  instead  of  snooping  around  the  halls 
trying  to  find  out  something  that  did  not  in  the  least 
concern  them. 

Melissa  knew  what  had  happened.  Before  eight 
o'clock  that  night  Miss  Fairweather  knew,  and  Flan 
ders  also.  The  great  Bingle  dream  was  not  the  only 
one  to  be  shattered  by  the  news  that  the  day  brought 
forth. 

For  the  first  time  in  two  days,  Melissa  addressed 
herself  to  Mr.  Diggs.  Her  lip  trembled  and  there 
were  tears  lying  close  to  the  surface  of  her  eyes.  She 
told  the  butler,  in  smothered  tones,  that  she  had  -de 
cided  to  remain  in  the  employ  of  Mr.  Bingle  as  long 
as  he  needed  her  services,  and  that  she  would  have  to 
return  his  ring.  She  could  not  marry  him  —  at  least 
not  at  present,  nor  for  a  long  time  perhaps. 

The  children  refused  to  go  to  bed  unless  Melissa 
iold  them  a  story.  She  collected  them  in  the  nursery 
r — -the  lame,  the  halt  and  the  half -blind  —  and  very 
meekly  inquired  what  kind  of  a  story  they  would 
have. 

"  The  one  about  Peter  Pan,"  said  Henrietta. 


THE  LAW'S  LAST  WORD  273 

"  No !  Tell  us  a  new  one  about  the  piruts,"  cried 
Wilberforce. 

"A  ghost  story,  'Lissie,"  chimed  in  Harold,  aged 
five.  "  Scare  me  good  and  hard,  so's  I  can  sleep  with 
Freddy  to-night." 

"  It's  not  the  right  kind  of  a  night  for  a  ghost 
story,"  said  Melissa,  her  eyes  going  over  the  group 
with  a  strange,  sweet  compassion  in  their  depths. 
"  The  wind  ought  to  be  howling  with  blood-curdling 
glee  and  the  will-o'-the-wisp  ought  to  be  a-hoppin'  in 
the  swamp.  There  ought  to  be  a  graveyard  close  by 
—  and  some  skeletons  standing  just  outside  the  win 
ders,  trying  to  look  in  upon  us  through  their  eyeless 
sockets." 

"  Let's  imagine  'em,"  said  Frederick. 

"  I  want  to  huddle,  'Lissie,"  lisped  Rosemary. 
"  It's  fun  to  huddle." 

"  You'll  be  discharged  if  you  fill  these  kids  up  with 
any  more  of  those  yarns  of  yours,"  said  Stokes,  the 
nurse-maid,  languidly  looking  up  from  the  book  she 
was  reading. 

"  I  guess  not,"  said  Melissa,  rather  grimly.  "  My 
job's  safe,  no  matter  what  I  do  or  don't  do.  Go  on 
with  your  reading,  Miss  Stokes.  Your  worries  are 
almost  ovef.  Mine  are  just  beginning.  Huddle  up 
close,  Rosemary  —  I'm  going  to  begin." 

"  I'm  huddled,"  shivered  Rosemary,  crawling  under 
Melissa's  sheltering  arm. 

"  Now,  this  is  a  true  story,"  began  Melissa  wearily. 
The  children  had  drawn  close  about  her.  "  It's  an 


MR.  BINGLE 

honest  true  one  about  a  ghost  that  used  to  ha'nt  my 
great-grandfather.  My  great-grandfather  owned  a 
beautiful  castle  in  France  not  far  from  Nice."  She 
pronounced  it  with  the  long  sound  of  the  vowel,  and 
was  promptly  corrected  by  Marie  Louise.  "  I  said 
it  was  my  great-grandfather,  not  my  niece,"  said  the 
storyteller  sharply.  "  Well,  onct  upon  a  time  he 
was  engaged  in  a  war  —  the  Communism  war,  I  think 
it  was.  In  the  heat  of  battle  one  day  he  cut  off  a 
great  general's  head,  just  like  that.  Goodness,  don't 
jump  so,  Rosemary !  It  rolled  down  a  hill,  bumpety- 
bump,  swearing  all  the  way.  You  see,  he  was  a  very 
great  general  and  was  allowed  to  swear  all  he  pleased. 
He  got  his  head  cut  off,  so  there's  a  warning  for  you 
boys  never  to  swear.  Well,  Grandpa  got  off  of  his 
fiery  steed  and  looked  everywhere  for  the  corpse's 
head.  He  had  the  body  all  right,  but  what  good  was 
a  body  without  a  head?  He  couldn't  find  it  any 
where.  The  rest  of  the  army  came  up  and  helped  in 
the  search,  but  'twasn't  any  use.  That  general's 
head  had  disappeared  as  if  by  magic.  At  first  it  was 
thought  they  might  trace  it  by  the  cuss-words  it  was 
uttering,  but  you  see  by  this  time  everybody  was 
swearing,  so  it  was  like  looking  for  a  needle  in  a  hay 
stack.  They  kept  on  hunting  for  nearly  a  week,  be 
cause  Grandpa  wanted  to  send  that  feller's  head  to 
his  widow,  so's  she  could  give  it  a  decent  burial  and 
also  get  the  insurance.  He  — " 

"  And  so's  she  could  get  married  again,"  broke  in 
Frederick. 


THE  LAW'S  LAST  WORD  275 

"  Exactly.  Well,  after  the  war  was  over.  Grandpa 
he  went  back  to  his  castle  to  rest  up  for  the  next  war, 
and  to  have  his  sword  sharpened  and  his  petard  fixed. 
One  dark  night  he  was  a-setting  in  his  ante-room  pon 
dering  over  the  past  and  wondering  what  had  become 
of  that  feller's  head  —  and  also  what  had  become 
of  his  widder,  who  was  a  most  bewitching  creature  and 
would  make  any  man  a  most  desirable  wife,  especially 
if  he  didn't  have  one  already  —  which  Grandpa 
didn't.  All  of  a  sudden  he  heard  a  voice  speaking 
to  him  as  if  from  a  graveyard.  It  said  '  Good 
evenin',  Duke ! '  Did  I  tell  you  my  great-grandpa 
was  a  duke?  Well,  he  was.  'Good  evenin',  Duke,' 
said  the  voice,  coming  from  nowhere  in  — ' 

"  Did  it  say  it  twice  ?  "  demanded  Reginald. 

"  Four  or  five  times,"  said  Melissa ;  "  because 
Grandpa  wasn't  sure  he  heard  it  the  first  time.  He 
looked  everywhere.  Finally  he  saw  it.  It  was 
perched  right  there  on  his  knee  —  a  awful,  horrid, 
bluggy  head  with  its  moustache  twisted  up  like  Swan- 
son's  on  Sunday.  It  —  Oh,  Lordy !  " 

Mr.  Bingle  entered  the  nursery.  The  children 
stared  at  him  as  if  at  the  long-expected  ghost,  open- 
mouthed  and  wide-eyed.  His  sandy,  greyish  hair 
which  of  late  had  been  trained  to  lie  quite  sleek  and 
precise  across  the  widening  bald-spot,  was  now  in  a 
state  of  wild  disorder.  It  stqod  out  "  every  which 
way,"  according  to  Melissa's  subsequent  description, 
and  lent  to  his  appearance  an  aspect  of  fierceness  that 
was  almost  inconceivable.  Somehow  they  were  all 


276  MR.  BINGLE 

surprised  when  this  sinister  figure  spoke,  for  his  voice 
was  kind  and  gentle,  and  not  at  all  what  one  might 
have  looked  for  in  a  maniac. 

"  Well,  well,  here  we  are.  Isn't  it  time  you  all 
were  in  bed?  Off  with  you,  like  good  boys  and  girls. 
Daddy  won't  be  able  to  come  up  to  see  that  you're 
tucked  in  to-night.  I'll  say  good  night  to  you  now. 
Melissa,  will  you  and  Stokes  come  down  to  the  library 
as  soon  as  you've  got  them  to  bed?  And  please  tell 
the  other  nurse-maids  to  come  also.  I  don't  happen 
to  see  them  about  anywhere.  I  suppose  it  is  a  gen 
eral  night  out.  I  have  something  important  to  say 
to  you  all.  Please  be  as  spry  as  possible.  I  want  to 
get  it  over  with." 

Half  an  hour  later,  Mr.  Bingle  received  his  serv 
ants  in  the  library.  It  was  to  be  noted  that  his  hair 
was  smoothly  brushed.  With  him  in  the  room  was  a 
young  man  who  was  recognised  by  a  few  of  the  serv 
ants  as  Mr.  Epps,  a  clerk  from  the  lawyers'  offices. 
From  Diggs  down  to  the  boy  whose  sole  duty  it  was 
to  feed  the  robins  and  squirrels  in  the  park  —  all 
were  there,  a  curious  and  strangely  depressed  assem 
blage. 

The  master,  in  a  quiet,  unemotional  voice  at  once 
stated  the  object  of  the  meeting.  He  had  called  them 
together  for  the  purpose  of  giving  them  the  required 
two  weeks'  notice,  and  also  to  pay  them  in  full  their 
wages  up  to  the  twentieth  of  the  month.  They  were 
at  liberty  to  go,  however,  as  soon  as  they  liked,  but 
he  desired  them  to  know  that  it  would  be  with  his  best 


THE  LAW'S  LAST  WORD  277 

wishes  for  their  future.  A  letter  of  recommendation 
would  be  found  attached  to  each  pay  envelope.  He 
regretted  exceedingly  that  it  was  not  in  his  power  to 
supplement  this  last  payment  by  the  addition  of  a 
well-deserved  present  to  each  of  his  faithful  servitors. 
Circumstances  over  which  he  had  no  control  made  it 
impossible  for  him  to  give  them  more  than  the  stipu 
lated  amount.  In  concluding  a  brief,  simple  tribute 
to  their  loyalty  as  servants  and  an  expression  of  his 
sincere  regret  that  they  were  so  soon  to  part  com 
pany,  Mr.  Bingle  said : 

"  You  see  before  you,  my  friends,  a  man  who  is 
poorer  than  any  one  of  you.  Yesterday  I  was  a  rich 
man,  to-day  I  am  as  poor  as  Job's  turkey.  Poorer, 
if  anything,  for  Job's  turkey  at  least  possessed  a 
home,  such  as  it  was.  To-morrow  I  shall  receive 
official  notification  that  Seawood  and  all  that  goes 
with  it,  real  and  personal,  is  no  longer  mine.  The 
law  has  said  so,  and  I  must  abide  by  the  decision  of 
the  highest  court  in  the  land. 

"  The  Supreme  Court  has  finally  handed  down  its 
decision  in  the  case  of  Hooper  et  al.  vs.  Bingle.  I 
am  not  the  rightful  heir.  Joseph  H.  Hooper  was 
not  acting  within  his  rights  when  he  disposed  of  his 
privately  acquired  fortune.  His  children  were  acting 
within  their  rights  when  they  disowned  him,  scorned 
him,  kicked  him  out  of  their  lives.  It  has  been  de 
cided  that  my  uncle  was  not  competent  to  dispose  of 
his  property,  and  that  I,  his  conniving  nephew,  in 
fluenced  him  by  craft,  wiliness,  duplicity  and  so  forth 


278  MR.  BINGLE 

to  such  an  extent  that  he  gave  his  money  to  me  in 
stead  of  to  those  who  should  have  received  it.  The 
Supreme  Court  declares  that  all  of  the  lower  courts 
erred  in  not  admitting  testimony  to  prove  that 
my  uncle  desired  to  leave  his  fortune  to  his  chil 
dren,  even  after  he  had  made  his  last  will  in  my 
favour. 

"  It  may  interest  you  to  know  that '  The  Christmas 
Carol '  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  the  decision.  The 
lower  courts  refused  to  hear  evidence  to  the  effect 
that  after  making  his  will  he  wrote  a  letter  to  each  of 
his  children,  over  his  own  signature,  in  which  he  stated 
that  upon  reading  the  carol  he  was  so  impressed  with 
the  sermon  it  preached  that  he  was  more  than  willing 
to  let  bygones  be  bygones  and  to  give  to  his  children 
all  of  his  fortune,  in  equal  shares,  expressing  the  hope, 
however,  that  they  would  be  governed  by  the  same 
noble  book  in  compensating  his  beloved  nephew, 
Thomas  Bingle,  and  so  on  and  so  forth.  If  they 
would  take  him  back  into  their  lives,  he  would  forget 
and  forgive.  Of  course,  no  attention  was  paid  to 
these  letters  at  the  time,  because  he  was  supposed  to 
be  penniless.  They  only  went  to  show  that  he  was 
mentally  unbalanced.  In  the  orginial  trials,  these 
letters  were  introduced.  The  Christmas  Carol  was 
also  offered  as  one  of  the  exhibits,  and  it  was  allowed 
to  stick.  When  the  story  was  read  in  open  court, 
every  one  sniffled,  even  the  judge.  The  jury  almost 
bellowed.  As  it  was  allowed  to  remain  in  the  record, 
I've  no  doubt  the  Supreme  Bench  wept  a  little  over 


THE  LAW'S  LAST  WORD  279 

Tiny  Tim.  In  its  decision  the  Supreme  Court  refers 
quite  freely  to  the  story  and  its  effect  on  the  old 
gentleman.  I  shall  not  go  into  the  history  of  the 
case.  It  would  not  be  of  interest  to  you.  It  is  only 
necessary  for  me  to  repeat  that  I  shall  be  penniless. 
Seawood  must  be  turned  over  to  the  rightful  owners. 
I  don't  mind  admitting  that  I  have  never  really  felt 
that  it  belonged  to  me.  I  have  always  thought  that 
Joseph  Hooper's  millions  belonged  to  his  children, 
mean  as  they  are. 

"  But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there.  My  lawyers 
would  not  consent  to  my  believing  anything  that  they 
didn't  want  me  to  believe.  I  don't  own  a  dollar  in 
the  world,  however,  except  the  wages  due  to  you,  my 
faithful  servants.  These  wages  are  to  be  paid  to 
you  to-night  by  Mr.  Epps,  who  has  cashed  my  last 
check  against  the  Hooper  fortune,  in  order  that  you 
may  receive  your  due.  To-morrow  my  check,  I  fear, 
would  not  be  honoured.  If  I  have  done  wrong  in 
withdrawing  money  to-day  for  the  purpose  of  pay 
ing  you  for  honest  labour,  I  shall  certainly  never  per 
mit  it  to  disturb  my  conscience.  As  soon  as  Ruther 
ford  is  able  to  be  removed,  I  shall  leave  Seawood 
forever.  In  conclusion,  I  may  say  that  all  I  have 
left  in  the  world  are  ten  small  children.  As  usual, 
they  turn  out  to  be  the  poor  man's  fortune.  Mr. 
Epps,  will  you  be  good  enough  now  to  distribute  the 
pay  envelopes?  I  shall  say  good  night  to  all  of  you, 
and  to  you,  Mr.  Epps,  as  well.  To-morrow  at  any 
hour  you  may  select  it  will  give  me  pleasure  to  go  with 


280  MR.  BINGLE 

you  to  see  the  little  flat  you  have  described  as  the 
most  desirable  in  your  list  of  apartments.  I  was  not 
aware,  Mr.  Epps,  that  you  acted  as  a  renting  agent 
in  addition  to  your  duties  with  Bradlee,  Sigsbee  & 
Oppenheim." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Epps.  "  I  find  it  quite  a 
profitable  side  issue,  Mr.  Bingle.  Clients  of  ours  are 
constantly  being  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  seeking 
cheaper  —  ahem !  I  shall  be  pleased  to  show  you  the 
flat  at  any  hour  you  may  select." 

"  Thank  you,  Epps." 

Without  going  more  deeply  into  details,  the  fore 
going  explains  the  situation.  Thomas  Singleton 
Bingle  was  to  be  deprived  of  the  Hooper  millions. 
His  ten  years  of  possession,  years  of  peace  and 
plenty,  had  come  to  an  abrupt  termination.  Pov 
erty,  even  darker  than  he  had  suffered  before  the 
windfall,  loomed  up  ahead  of  him,  for  in  the  old  days 
there  had  been  no  children  to  feed  and  clothe.  Added 
to  this  was  the  certainty  that  a  sick  wife  would  take 
the  place  of  that  well,  strong  and  encouraging  Mary 
of  the  past.  Despite  the  claims  and  assurances  of 
his  lawyers,  Mr.  Bingle  always  had  felt  that  this  day 
would  come.  He  had  never  looked  upon  himself  as 
the  rightful  possessor  of  Joseph  Hooper's  fortune  in 
its  entirety.  So,  when  the  time  came,  he  was  the 
least  surprised  by  the  shock,  and  would  have  been  the 
first  to  smile  had  it  not  been  for  the  dreadful  effect 
the  news  had  upon  Mrs.  Bingle.  His  wife  collapsed. 
She  sent  for  her  mother  and  sister  and  declared  openly 


THE  LAW'S  LAST  WORD  281 

that  from  that  day  forth  she  would  make  her  home 
with  them.  And  to  add  to  Mr.  Bingle's  incalculable 
distress,  Dr.  Fiddler  very  resolutely  said  that  he 
thought  it  advisable  for  her  to  do  precisely  what  she 
wanted  to  do  at  this  time.  Later  on,  no  doubt,  she 
would  look  upon  the  situation  differently,  and  would 
return,  to  him  sound  in  body,  mind  and  affection.  But 
for  the  present  —  well,  said  the  great  Dr.  Fiddler, 
she'd  be  much  happier  with  her  mother  and  sister, 
away  from  Mr.  Bingle  and  the  children.  He  also  ad 
vised  Mr.  Bingle  in  no  uncertain  terms  to  get  rid  of 
the  children  as  soon  as  possible  without  seriously 
jeopardising  their  future  welfare,  "  for,"  said  he, 
"  they  will  never  cease  to  be  a  barrier  between  you 
and  your  wife,  now  that  the  dream  is  over  and  you 
are  both  awake  to  the  cruel  call  of  reality."  The 
situation  became  desperate  for  Mr.  Bingle  when  his 
wife  took  her  extraordinary  stand,  and  not  before. 
He  wilted  like  a  faded  flower  in  the  face  of  this 
blighting  calamity. 

On  the  morning  of  the  sixth  of  July,  a  pompous 
old  gentleman  rang  the  front  doorbell  at  Seawood, 
and  inquired  for  Mr.  Bingle.  He  turned  out  to  be  the 
principal  lawyer  employed  by  Joseph  Hooper's  son 
and  daughters  in  their  fight  for  the  Grimwell  millions 
—  a  Mr.  Hoskins  by  name.  He  might  have  been 
designated  as  General  Hoskins,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
for  he  was  in  actual  command  of  a  small  army  of 
lawyers,  now  victorious  after  a  long  and  bitter  war 
fare. 


282  MR.  BINGLE 

"  I  am  authorised  by  my  clients,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said 
he,  "  to  extend  to  you  the  customary  amenities  in 
such  cases,  wherein  a  contest  ends  so  disastrously  for 
one  party  or  the  other.  We  are  not  unmindful  of 
the  teachings  of  *  The  Christmas  Carol.'  Indeed,  we 
have  all  read  it  with  great  interest.  Joseph 
Hooper's  recommendations  to  his  children  in  regard 
to  you  — " 

"  Just  a  moment,  please,"  interrupted  Mr.  Bingle. 
"  Say  it  straight  out,  Mr.  Hoskins.  Have  they  com 
missioned  you  to  make  provision  for  my  future  out 
of  the  funds  they  are  about  to  acquire?  " 

"  In  a  measure,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Hoskins,  prepared 
to  sneer  at  Mr.  Bingle's  gleeful  acceptance  of  char 
ity.  "  Of  course,  nothing  can  be  done  in  the  matter 
until  the  opinion  of  the  Court  is  — " 

"  Nothing  at  all  can  be  done  in  the  matter,"  said 
Mr.  Bingle  acidly.  "  I  shall  not  accept  a  penny 
from  them,  Mr.  Hoskins.  They  wouldn't  accept  it 
from  me,  and  I'm  damned  if  I'll  accept  it  from  them. 
6  The  Christmas  Carol '  hasn't  anything  to  do  with 
the  case.  All  I  ask  is  a  little  time  in  which  to 
straighten  out  the  affairs  of  the  estate,  and  not  to 
be  hurried  in  my  actions.  I  promise  you  that  I  shall 
be  as  expeditious  as  possible.  In  a  day  or  two  my 
counsel  and  I  will  be  able  to  get  started  on  the  work. 
It  will  be  quite  simple  so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  I 
have  only  to  turn  over  to  you  everything  in  the  world 
except  our  wearing  apparel  —  not  all  of  that,  you 
may  be  sure  —  and  my  part  of  the  transfer  is  com- 


THE  LAW'S  LAST  WORD  283 

pleted.  I  had  nothing  when  Joseph  Hooper's  money 
came  to  me,  so,  you  see,  it  will  be  quite  easy  for  me 
to  step  down  and  out.  I  have  only  to  walk  out  of 
the  house  with  my  wife  and  children,  without  a  cent 
in  my  pockets,  and  the  job  is  done.  Everything  else 
belongs  to  Geoffrey  and  his  sisters." 

Mr.  Hoskins  was  disconcerted.  He  had  come  pre 
pared  to  be  generous.  "  My  dear  sir,  the  fortunes 
of  war  have  militated  against  — " 

66  Better  say  the  misfortunes  of  war,"  interrupted 
Mr.  Bingle,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

66 1  wish  you  wouldn't  interrupt  me  every  time  I 
start  to  speak  to  you,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said  the  lawyer. 
"  I'm  not  accustomed  to  being  — " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  again  interrupted  Mr.  Bin 
gle,  and,  because  he  said  it  apologetically,  Mr.  Hos 
kins  was  not  resentful. 

"  My  clients  are  disposed  to  be  fair  and  —  I  will 
not  say  charitable  —  generous  in  their  hour  of  tri 
umph.  Last  evening  they  met  and  discussed  the 
problems  confronting  you,  sir.  They  realise  that 
you  devoted  a  great  deal  of  your  time  and  much  of 
your  slender  means  toward  securing  the  comfort  of 
their  lamented  father  — " 

"  And  burying  him,"  put  in  Mr.  Bingle.  "  Don't 
forget  that  I  buried  him." 

" —  and  they  are  prepared  to  settle  a  certain 
amount  upon  you  for  life,  Mr.  Bingle." 

M  Well,  that's  nice  of  them,"  said  Mr.  Bingle. 

"  The  amount  will  be  decided  upon  at  some  subse- 


28%  MR.  BINGLE 

quent  meeting.  In  the  meantime,  you  are  to  accept 
from  them  the  sum  of  one  thousand  dollars  for  the 
purpose  of  providing  yourself  with  — " 

"  I've  just  got  to  interrupt,  Mr.  Hoskins.  I  do 
it  for  your  own  sake.  You  are  wasting  time  and 
words.  I  shan't  take  a  penny,  as  I  said  before.  I 
will  not  allow  them  to  settle  a  certain  amount  upon 
me.  That's  flat,  Mr.  Hoskins.  I  know  how  to  be 
poor  a  blamed  sight  better  than  I  know  how  to  be 
rich.  It  won't  be  a  new  thing  to  me.  I'll  get  along, 
so  don't  you  worry.  I  have  kept  the  books  for  this  es 
tate  ever  since  I  came  into  control  of  it,  just  because  I 
like  to  be  busy  at  something  I  know  how  to  do  with 
out  asking  the  advice  of  the  butler  or  anybody  else. 
The  books  and  accounts  have  been  kept  straight  up 
to  this  very  day.  You  can  put  your  auditors  and 
expert  accountants  at  work  on  them  to-morrow,  if 
you  like,  and  you'll  find  that  they  balance  to  a  cent. 
So,  you  see,  I've  not  allowed  myself  to  get  rusty  with 
prosperity." 

"  Most  extraordinary,"  said  Mr.  Hoskins. 

"  When  the  time  comes,  I  shall  be  able  to  turn  over 
the  estate  a  good  deal  better  than  I  found  it.  It  has 
increased  under  my  management.  I  could  not  have 
begun  to  spend  the  income  from  the  investments. 
Your  clients  will  find  themselves  in  possession  of  an 
extra  million  or  two  apiece  to  recompense  them  for 
their  long  wait.  I  do  not  expect  or  solicit  thanks  for 
managing  the  estate  while  it  was  under  my  control. 
Please  tell  them  so,  Mr.  Hoskins." 


THE  LAW'S  LAST  WORD  285 

"  My  clients  are  not  disposed  to  exact  a  complete, 
minute  accounting  from  you,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said  Mr. 
Hoskins,  somewhat  at  a  loss  for  means  to  meet  the 
unexpected.  "  Naturally  we,  as  their  attorneys,  are 
expected  to  ascertain  the  condition  of  the  estate,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  I  am  quite  sure  that  we  will 
find  it  —  er  —  in  excellent  order." 

"  Before  I  forget  it,  perhaps  I'd  better  mention 
one  or  two  expenditures  that  I  have  made  in  the  past 
twenty-four  hours,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  thoughtfully. 
"  I  have  taken  it  upon  myself  to  pay  all  of  my  just 
debts  before  the  order  of  the  Court  takes  effect.  In 
other  words,  sir,  I  have  settled  in  full  with  my  attor 
neys,  my  doctors  and  my  servants.  They  are  paid 
up  to  the  minute,  Mr.  Hoskins." 

The  lawyer  stared.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
you  have  paid  out  of  the  estate  the  fees  —  undoubt 
edly  exorbitant  —  of  these  lawyers  for  the  ten  years' 
fiddling  they  have  been  — " 

"  My  doctor's  name  is  Fiddler,  sir,"  interrupted 
Mr.  Bingle,  looking  so  hard  into  Mr.  Hoskins'  eyes 
that  once  more  the  interruption  passed  unresented. 
"  I  have  paid  them  all  in  full,  if  that's  what  you  are 
trying  to  get  at." 

"  Don't  you  know  that  such  an  act  is  distinctly 
illegal  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Hoskins. 

"  So  my  lawyers  informed  me." 

"  And  yet  they  permitted  you  to  hand  over  to  them 
large  sums  of  money  in  the  nature  of  fees  without 
waiting  for  an  order  of  the  Court,  knowing  full  well 


286  MR.  BINGLE 

that  an  opinion  had  been  handed  down  ?  It  is  incom 
prehensible  ! " 

"  It  shouldn't  be  incomprehensible  to  you,  Judge 
Hoskins,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  gently.  "  You  are  a  law 
yer  yourself." 

"  Am  I  to  infer  that  you  —  What  do  you  mean, 
sir?  " 

"  I  leave  that  entirely  to  you,  sir." 

Mr.  Hoskins  coughed,  although  there  was  nothing 
to  indicate  that  it  was  necessary. 

"  It  is  possible,  sir,  for  my  clients  to  bring  suit 
against  you  for  a  full  accounting  of  all  monies  that 
you  have  expended  or  misused  in  — " 

"  I  wouldn't  say  that,  if  I  were  you,  Judge  Hos 
kins." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Bingle.  For  all  monies 
that  belong  or  have  belonged  to  the  estate  of  their 
father.  I  say  it  is  possible  for  them  to  do  so  —  but 
not  likely.  *  You  should  not  forget  that  this  estate 
virtually  has  been  held  in  trust  by  you  for  all  these 
years,  pending  the  final  decision  —  a  point  agreed 
upon  by  my  clients  and  yourself  in  the  desire  to  in 
crease  the  value  of  — " 

"  If  they  feel  inclined  to  bring  such  a  suit,  Mr. 
Hoskins,  I  shall  not  combat  it,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  drily. 
"  They  may  take  judgment  by  default.  They  are 
used  to  waiting  by  this  time,  so  it  won't  be  anything 
new  for  them  to  wait  a  million  years  for  what  they'd 
get  if  they  sued  me.  By  carefully  hoarding  a  couple 
of  dollars  a  year  for  a  million  years,  I  fancy  I  could 


THE  LAW'S  LAST  WORD  287 

in  the  end  be  able  to  take  care  of  the  judgment.  But 
it  hardly  seems  worth  while,  does  it?  It  is  barely 
possible  that  your  clients  might  die  before  that  time 
is  up,  even  though  I  should  survive." 

"  I  fear  that  you  do  not  realise  that  this  is  no 
joking  matter,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said  Mr.  Hoskins  stiffly. 
He  was  not  quite  so  pompous  as  when  he  entered  the 
house. 

"  I  fear  that  you  did  not  realise  it  either,  Mr.  Hos 
kins,  when  you  spoke  of  suing  me." 

"  Ahem !  And  now,  sir,  when  may  we  arrange  for 
a  conference  over  the  transfer  of  all  properties  now 
in  your  hands,  or  under  your  control,  as  coming  from 
the  estate  of  the  late  Joseph  Hooper?  " 

"  You  may  call  up  my  attorneys  by  telephone  this 
afternoon,  sir,  and  arrange  anything  you  like.  They 
are  still  in  my  employ,  according  to  our  agreement  of 
yesterday.  I've  paid  them  to  see  that  I  have  nothing 
left  when  they  get  through  with  me,  so  there's  noth 
ing  to  worry  about.  Confer  with  them,  Mr.  Hos 
kins,  and  when  you  are  ready  I'll  come  down  and  do 
whatever  is  necessary  in  the  premises.  In  the  mean 
time,  convey  my  thanks  to  my  cousins  and  say  that 
when  they  refused  to  accept  a  portion  of  the  estate 
from  me  ten  years  ago  they  made  it  impossible  for  me 
to  accept  anything  from  them  now.  What  they  were 
too  proud  to  accept,  I  also  am  too  proud  to  take. 
Thank  you  for  coming  out  to  see  me,  Mr.  Hoskins. 
I  know  you  are  a  very  busy  man,  and  I  know  it  must 
seem  like  a  prodigious  waste  of  time  to  be  interesting 


288  MR.  BINGLE 

yourself  in  the  affairs  of  a  poor  bookkeeper  without 
a  cent  to  his  name.  For  that  is  what  I  am,  Mr.  Hos- 
kins:  a  poor  bookkeeper  without  a  cent  to  his  name 
but  still  a  believer  in  '  The  Christmas  Carol.'  " 

66  But  that  book  actually  was  the  cause  of  your 
undoing,  sir.  It — " 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  wearily.  "  It 
is  a  good  book,  just  the  same.  If  you  will  excuse 
me  now,  I  must  go  to  the  city.  I  have  an  appoint 
ment  right  after  luncheon  with  a  man  who  is  going  to 
show  me  a  flat." 

Mr.  Hoskins  surprised  himself  at  this  juncture  — 
undeniably  surprised  himself.  "  If  you  are  going  to 
the  city  at  once,  Mr.  Bingle,  perhaps  you  will  permit 
me  to  take  you  up  in  my  car." 

Mr.  Bingle's  smile  was  quizzical.  "  You  have  got 
something  out  of  4  The  Christmas  Carol '  then,"  he 
said,  and  Mr.  Hoskins  eventually  had  the  grace  to 
redden  perceptibly.  He  was  slow  in  grasping  the 
connection,  however. 

The  impoverished  millionaire  had  a  busy  afternoon, 
and  some  annoying  mishaps  —  if  they  may  be  classi 
fied  as  such.  In  the  first  place,  he  went  to  the  bank 
and  delivered  his  resignation  as  vice-president  and 
director.  He  handed  it  to  Mr.  Force  and  at  the  same 
moment  applied  for  his  old  job  as  bookkeeper.  Mr. 
Force  complimented  him  on  his  promptness  in  both 
emergencies.  It  appears  that  the  newspapers  had 
printed  columns  about  the  Bingle  affair.  Mr.  Force 
was  in  possession  of  all  the  facts.  He  had  been  in- 


THE  LAW'S  LAST  WORD  289 

terviewed  by  all  of  the  reporters  who  had  failed  to 
see  Mr.  Bingle  and  who  had  to  be  content  with  a  state 
ment  prepared  and  delivered  by  Flanders. 

"  Your  resignation  comes  just  in  time,  Bingle,"  he 
said.  "  We  have  a  meeting  of  the  board  to-morrow. 
And  as  for  the  position,  I'm  happy  to  say  you  can 
have  it  almost  immediately.  Ramsey  is  leaving.  I 
thought  of  you  this  morning  when  my  secretary  men 
tioned  the  fact.  And,  by  the  way,  I  don't  mind  say 
ing  that  we  hope  to  have  the  Hooper  heirs  continue 
their  holdings  in  the  bank.  The  account,  as  you 
know,  is  a  large  one  and  we  don't  want  to  lose  it. 
Besides,  Geoffrey  Hooper  is  the  sort  of  a  chap  who 
will  help  the  bank  tremendously  if  we  put  him  on  the 
board.  He  stands  very  high  socially  and  is  hand  in 
glove  with  the  richest  people  in  town.  I  am  to  see 
him  at  three  o'clock.  By  Jove,  it's  nearly  three. 
Excuse  me,  Bingle,  if  I  appear  to  hurry  you  off, 
but  — " 

"  I  just  wanted  to  ask  how  Kathleen  is,  Mr.  Force," 
said  Mr.  Bingle,  who  had  not  been  asked  to  sit  down. 

"  She's  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Force.  "  Good-bye, 
Bingle.  Tell  Bashford  I  said  you  were  to  have  Ram 
sey's  place.  And,  by  the  way,  if  I  can  ever  be  of  any 
service  to  you,  Bingle,  I  wish  you'd  call  on  me." 

"  Thanks.  The  job  will  be  enough,  I  hope,  Mr. 
Force." 

Force  suddenly  lowered  his  eyes.  "  I'd  ask  you  to 
come  and  see  Kathleen,  Bingle,  but  —  but  we're  try 
ing  to  break  the  child  of  her  homesickness,  of  her 


290  MR.  BINGLE 

longing  to  see  you.  Time,  of  course,  will  do  it.  You 
will  understand,  of  course,  that  it  is  better  for  her  — 
and  for  all  of  us  —  if  she  doesn't  see  you." 

Mr.  Bingle's  face  shone.  "  She  —  she  still  loves 
me,  then  ?  "  he  cried  softly. 

Force  compressed  his  lips,  and  then  admitted: 
66  Yes,  Bingle,  old  fellow,  she  does  love  you.  And, 
hang  it  all,  why  shouldn't  she  ?  I  —  I  want  her  to 
love  me  and  not  you.  I  can't  look  at  you  without 
envy  in  my  soul  —  eating  my  soul,  do  you  under 
stand? —  and  I  could  almost  hate  you  for  the  start 
you  got  of  me  in  those  long  years  with  her.  Oh, 
don't  laugh  at  me,  Bingle.  Don't  stand  there  grin 
ning  like  a  hyena.  I  suppose  it  will  please  you  to 
hear  that  the  poor  child  cries  nearly  every  night  of 
her  life  because  she  —  she  misses  you.  I  — " 

"  You  can  bet  it  does  please  me,"  shouted  Mr. 
Bingle. 

"Wait,  Bingle!  Don't  go.  What  am  I  to  do? 
How  am  I  going  to  put  sunshine  back  into  that  little 
girl's  face?  Lord,  man,  I  —  I  can't  stand  it  much 
longer." 

Mr.  Bingle  pondered.  Then  he  laid  his  hat  upon 
the  table  and  took  a  notebook  and  pencil  from  his 
pocket.  While  he  scribbled,  Force  looked  on  in  per 
plexity. 

"  There !  "  said  Mr.  Bingle,  tearing  out  the  sheet 
and  handing  it  to  the  president  of  the  bank.  "  You 
may  read  it,  Mr.  Force.  Give  it  to  her,  and  see  if 
she  doesn't  brighten  up  a  bit." 


THE  LAW'S  LAST  WORD  291 

Force  read  the  note.  He  read  it  aloud,  as  if  that 
was  the  only  way  to  get  the  full  meaning  of  it. 

" '  Dear  Kathleen :  Your  old  daddy  loves  you. 
You  must  always  love  him,  and  you  must  make  your 
new  daddy  fetch  you  to  see  him  some  day.  Come 
and  see  Freddie  and  all  the  other  kiddies.  They  will 
be  so  delighted  to  see  you,  for  they  all  love  you.  And 
if  your  new  daddy  will  fetch  you  to  see  your  old  daddy 
once  in  a  while,  I  am  sure  you  will  come  to  love  your 
new  daddy  as  much,  if  not  more  than  you  love  your 
old 

"  DADDY  BINGLE.'  " 

"  Give  that  to  her,  Force,  and  maybe  she'll  put  her 
arms  around  your  neck  and  kiss  you,"  said  Mr.  Bin- 
gle,  and  went  swiftly  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Force 
staring  at  the  bit  of  paper  as  if  fascinated. 

As  he  hurried  from  the  bank,  he  met  Rouquin,  the 
foreign  exchange  manager,  who  evidently  had  been 
lying  in  wait  for  him. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Rouquin  ?  "  said  he,  stopping  to 
proffer  his  hand  to  the  Frenchman. 

"  See  here,  Mr.  Bingle,"  began  Rouquin,  in  an  agi 
tated  undertone ;  "  I  want  a  word  or  two  with  you 
about  Napoleon.  What  is  to  become  of  that  child, 
now  that  you  are  down  and  out?  Will  he  be  sent  to 
some  accursed  charity  home  or  — " 

"  Possess  your  soul  in  peace,  Rouquin,"  said  Mr. 
Bingle,  drawing  back  to  look  more  intently  into  the 


MR.  BINGLE 

unfriendly  eyes  of  the  once  amiable  Rouquin.  "  Na 
poleon  shall  have  the  best  I  can  give  him,  no  more. 
He  is  as  well  with  me  as  he  could  ever  have  been  with 
his  good-for-nothing  father,  and  if  I  choose  to  get 
rid  of  him  later  on  to  the  best  advantage  I  won't 
be  doing  anything  more  despicable  than  his  father 
and  mother  did  before  me.  Please  bear  that  in 
mind." 

"  I  shall  see  to  it  that  he  is  taken  away  from  you 
before  he  is  a  week  older,"  cried  Rouquin  angrily. 
"You  cannot  expect  me  to  leave  that  helpless 
child  — " 

"  What  have  you  got  to  do  with  it,  Rouquin  ?  " 
demanded  Mr.  Bingle  sharply. 

"  I  am  his  mother's  friend.  I  promised  her  that 
he  should  have  a  fine  home.  I  swore  to  her  that  he 
should  never  know  want  or  hardship  or  — " 

"  There  is  only  one  way  for  you  to  take  Napoleon 
away  from  me,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  as  Rouquin  floun 
dered  for  words  to  express  himself.  "  And  that  is 
to  come  up  like  a  man  and  say  that  you  are  his 
father.  Whenever  you  can  do  that  and  whenever 
you  can  show  me  that  you  and  his  mother  are  mar 
ried  to  each  other,  I'll  give  him  up  to  you,  but  not 
before,  you  scum  of  the  earth ! " 

Rouquin  went  very  red  in  the  face  and  then  very 
pale,  and  his  thin  lips  set  themselves  in  a  ghastly 
smile. 

"  Good  day,  Rouquin,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  and  went 
out  of  the  bank. 


THE  LAW'S  LAST  WORD  293 

Mr.  Epps  was  annoyed  because  his  customer  kept 
him  waiting  for  nearly  half-an-hour.  He  was  ex 
ceedingly  crabbed  and  disagreeable  as  they  set  out 
to  look  at  the  flat  which  was  to  be  the  Bingle  home, 
provided  the  rent  was  paid  regularly  and  promptly. 


CHAPTER  XV 

DECEMBER 

THE  proverbial  church-mouse  was  no  worse  off  than 
Mr.  Bingle  at  the  end  of  the  fifth  month  of  his  re 
duction.  Indeed,  it  is  more  than  probable  that  the 
church-mouse  would  be  conceded  a  distinct  advantage 
in  many  particulars.  .  A  very  small  nest  will  accom 
modate  a  very  large  family  of  growing  mice;  the 
tighter  they  are  packed  in  the  nest  the  better  off 
they  are  in  zero  weather.  Moreover,  in  a  pinch,  the 
parental  church-mouse  may  stave  off  famine  by  re 
sorting  to  a  cannibalistic  plan  of  economy,  thereby 
saving  its  young  the  trouble  of  growing  up  to  become 
proverbial  church-mice.  It  may  devour  its  young 
when  it  becomes  painfully  hungry,  and  not  be  held 
accountable  to  the  law.  With  commendable  frugal 
ity,  the  church-mouse  first  eats  off  the  tail  of  its  off 
spring.  Then,  if  luck  continues  to  be  bad,  the  re 
mainder  may  be  despatched  with  due  and  honest 
respect  for  the  laws  of  nature. 

Now,  with  Mr.  Bingle,  it  was  quite  out  of  the  ques 
tion  for  him  to  devour  even  so  small  a  morsel  as 
Napoleon  without  getting  into  serious  trouble  with 
the  law,  and  it  was  equally  impossible  to  obtain  the 
same  degree  of  comfort  for  his  young  by  packing 

them  into  a  four  room  flat.     And  then  the  church- 

294 


DECEMBER  295 

mouse  doesn't  have  to  think  about  shoes  and  stock 
ings  and  mittens  and  ear-muffs,  to  say  nothing  of 
frocks  and  knickerbockers.  So  he  who  speaks  of 
another  as  being  "  as  poor  as  a  church-mouse  "  does 
a  grave  injustice  to  a  really  prosperous  creature, 
despite  the  fact  that  it  lives  in  a  church  and  is  em 
ployed  in  the  rather  dubious  occupation  of  support 
ing  a  figure  of  speech.  Look  carefully  into  the  pres 
ent  law  of  economics,  if  you  please,  and  then  grant 
the  church-mouse  the  benefit  of  the  doubt. 

Mr.  Bingle's  flat  could  be  found  by  traversing  a 
very  mean  street  in  the  lower  east  side  not  far  re 
moved  from  the  Third  Avenue  Elevated  tracks.  Dis 
covery  required  the  mounting  of  four  flights  of  stairs 
by  foot,  and  two  turns  to  the  right  in  following  the 
course  of  the  narrow,  dark  hallway  which  led  in  a 
round-about  sort  of  way  to  a  fire  escape  that  invited 
a  quicker  and  less  painful  death  than  destruction  by 
flames  in  case  one  had  to  choose  between  the  two 
means  of  perishing. 

Four  rooms  and  a  kitchen  was  all  that  Mr.  Bingle's 
flat  amounted  to.  The  four  rooms  contained  beds; 
in  the  kitchen  there  was  a  collapsible  cot.  In  one  of 
the  rooms  (ordinarily  it  would  have  been  the  par 
lour),  there  was  a  somewhat  futile  sheet-iron  stove 
in  which  soft  coal  or  wood  could  be  used  provided 
the  wind  was  in  the  right  direction.  This  was,  in 
fact,  the  parlour.  The  bed,  by  day,  assumed  the 
dignity  of  a  broad  but  saggy  lounge,  exceedingly  com 
fortable  if  one  was  careful  to  sit  far  enough  forward 


296  MR.  BINGLE 

to  avoid  slipping  into  its  cavernous  depths  from 
which  there  was  no  escape  without  assistance.  Be 
sides  being  the  parlour,  it  was  also  the  library,  the 
study-room,  the  dining-room  and  reception  hall.  By 
night,  it  was  the  bed-chamber  of  Mr.  Bingle. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  cold  snap  that  arrived 
quite  early  in  December,  it  also  became  the  sleeping 
place  of  Rutherford,  Rosemary  and  Harold,  the 
tiniest  of  the  children,  who  piled  in  with  the  uncom 
plaining  occupant  and  kept  him  awake  three-fourths 
of  the  night  trying  to  determine  whose  legs  were  un 
covered  and  whose  were  not.  With  six  exceedingly 
active  little  legs  wriggling  in  as  many  different  di 
rections  in  pitch  darkness,  it  was  no  easy  matter,  you 
may  be  sure,  to  decide  whether  any  two  belonged  to 
the  same  individual,  and  when  it  came  to  pass  that 
three  of  them  were  exposed  at  the  same  time  the  puz 
zle  was  indeed  a  difficult  one. 

Napoleon's  crib  also  made  its  way  into  the  parlour 
when  the  cold  weather  came ;  and  while  Napoleon's 
legs  stayed  under  cover  pretty  well  his  voice,  like 
Chanticleer's,  arose  before  the  sun.  Frederick,  Wil- 
berforce  and  Reginald  slept  in  one  room,  Marie 
Louise,  Henrietta  and  Guinivere  in  another.  In 
pleasant  weather,  Rosemary  joined  her  sisters,  while 
Harold  and  Rutherford  fell  in  with  the  other  boys. 
There  never  was  a  time,  however,  when  Mr.  Bingle 
did  not  have  a  bed-fellow  in  the  shape  of  one  or  the 
other  of  the  two  small  boys. 

The  fourth  room  was  occupied  by  the  maid-of-all- 


DECEMBER  297 

work,  and  as  it  was  primarily  intended  to  be  the 
servant's  bedroom  it  is  not  necessary  to  state  that 
there  was  space  for  but  one  full  grown  person  inside 
its  four  walls.  The  collapsible  cot  in  the  kitchen 
represented  the  foundation  of  an  emergency  guest 
chamber.  Up  to  the  present  it  had  not  been  called 
into  use,  but  it  was  always  there  in  readiness  for  the 
expected  and  unexpected. 

It  will  be  observed  that  no  account  is  taken  of  Mrs. 
Bingle.  The  explanation  is  quite  simple.  She  went 
to  live  with  her  mother  and  sister  at  Peekskill  on  the 
advice  of  Dr.  Fiddler  almost  immediately  after  the 
Supreme  Court's  opinion  was  handed  down.  Later 
on,  she  came  down  to  the  city  with  her  mother,  who 
now  received  a  small  but  sufficient  income  through 
the  death  and  will  of  a  fairly  well-to-do  bachelor 
brother.  The  old  lady  took  a  house  in  the  Bronx 
and  once  a  week  Mr.  Bingle  journeyed  northward  by 
subway  and  surface  lines  to  visit  his  wife.  A  smart 
little  doctor  from  Dr.  Fiddler's  staff  made  occasional 
visits  to  the  Bronx  and  looked  the  part  of  a  wiseacre 
when  Mr.  Bingle  appealed  to  him  for  encouragement. 
He  smiled  knowingly  and  refused  to  commit  himself 
beyond  a  more  or  less  reassuring  squint,  a  pursing  of 
the  lips,  and  the  usual  statement  that  if  nothing  hap 
pened  she  would  be  as  fit  as  ever  in  the  course  of 
time. 

The  cot  in  the  kitchen  was  for  Mr.  Bingle  in  case 
Mrs.  Bingle  decided  to  come  back  to  him  in  health 
as  well  as  in  person.  He  consoled  himself  with  the 


298  MR.  BINGLE 

daily  hope  that  she  would  come  dashing  in  upon  him, 
as  well  as  ever  and  in  perfect  sympathy  with  his  de 
cision  to  protect  the  helpless  children  they  had  gath 
ered  about  them  in  their  years  of  affluence. 

He  had  stood  out  resolutely  against  all  conten 
tion  that  the  children  should  be  cast  upon  the  world 
once  more.  Harsh  words  were  used  at  times  by  in 
terested  friends  in  their  efforts  to  bring  him  to  his 
senses.  They  urged  him  to  let  them  find  homes  or 
asylums  for  the  rapacious  youngsters ;  they  described 
them  as  so  many  Sindbads;  they  spoke  of  them  as 
millstones  about  the  neck  of  a  man  who  could  never 
get  his  head  above  water  unless  he  cut  loose  from 
them ;  they  argued  long  and  insistently  about  his  mis 
taken  ideas  of  justice,  responsibility,  affection.  He 
came  back  at  them  always  with  the  patient  declara 
tion  that  he  would  stand  by  the  bargain  made  by 
himself  and  his  wife  so  long  as  God  saw  fit  to  give  him 
the  strength  to  earn  a  living  for  their  charges. 

"  Why,  confound  you,  Bingle,"  said  Mr.  Force  to 
him  one  day  at  the  bank,  "  one  would  think  that  you 
still  regard  yourself  as  a  millionaire,  the  way  you 
hang  onto  those  kids.  Cut  them  adrift,  old  fellow. 
Or  if  you  won't  do  that,  at  least  let  some  of  us  help 
you  in  a  pecuniary  way.  Don't  be  so  infernally 
proud  and  self-satisfied.  It  wouldn't  be  charity.  It 
would  be  justice.  Now,  see  here,  I've  argued  this 
thing  with  you  for  three  months  or  more  and  I'm 
getting  tired  of  your  everlasting  serenity.  I  know 
you  are  hard  put  to  find  enough  money  to  clothe  and 


DECEMBER  299 

feed  these  kids,  besides  buying  what  your  wife  may 
need.  You  are  beginning  to  look  shabby  and  you 
certainly  are  thinner  and  greyer.  What  you  ought 
to  do,  Single,  is  to  turn  those  kids  over  to  a  Home 
of  some  sort  and  settle  down  to  a  normal  way  of  liv 
ing.  Winter  is  coming  on.  You  will  have  a  devil 
of  a  time  providing  for  ten  small  children  and  a  sick 
wife  on  the  salary  you  are  getting  here.  Now,  for 
heaven's  sake,  old  fellow,  take  my  advice.  Get  rid 
of  'em.  You  owe  it  to  your  wife,  Bingle.  She 
ought  — " 

"  I  owe  it  to  my  wife  to  take  care  of  them  alone, 
now  that  she  is  unable  to  do  her  part,"  said  Mr. 
Bingle  simply.  "We  took  them  as  partners,  so  to 
speak.  She  is  unable  to  manage  her  share  of  the 
liability.  Well,  I'll  do  her  part  for  her,  Mr.  Force, 
so  long  as  I'm  able.  The  time  may  come  when  I  shall 
have  to  appeal  for  help,  or  give  up  the  struggle  alto 
gether,  but  it  isn't  here  yet.  I  can  manage  for  a 
while,  thank  you.  Besides,"  and  his  face  brightened, 
"  we  may  have  a  very  mild  winter,  and  the  new  tariff 
is  just  as  likely  as  not  to  reduce  the  cost  of  living, 
no  matter  what  you  croakers  say  to  the  contrary. 
I've  talked  it  over  with  Mrs.  Bingle.  She  says  she 
can't  come  home  until  she  is  very  much  better,  and 
I'll  admit  that  the  children  would  be  a  dreadful  strain 
upon  her  nerves  at  present.  But  she  says  I'm  to  do 
just  as  I  think  best  in  regard  to  them.  She  thinks 
I'm  foolish  —  in  fact,  she  says  so  —  but  I  think  I 
understand  her  better  than  any  one  else.  Down  in 


300  MR.  BINGLE 

her  heart  she  knows  I'm  doing  the  right  thing.  We'll 
wait,  like  old  Micawber,  for  something  to  turn  up. 
If  it  doesn't  turn  up  in  a  reasonable  length  of  time, 
then  I'll  consider  what  is  best  to  do  with  the  chil 
dren." 

"  Are  you  considering  your  own  health,  Bingle  ?  " 
demanded  Force  bluntly. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  simply.  "  I've  lived  a  de 
cent,  sensible  life,  so  what's  the  use  worrying  over 
something  that  can't  be  helped  ?  "  His  smile  was 
cheerful,  the  twinkle  in  his  eyes  was  as  bright  as 
though  it  had  never  known  a  dim  moment. 

"  You  should  accept  the  standing  offer  of  the 
Hooper  heirs,"  said  Force.  "  They  are  disposed  to 
be  fair  and  square,  Bingle.  Three  thousand  a  year 
isn't  to  be  sneezed  at." 

"  The  Hooper  heirs  are  sneezing  at  it,  so  why 
shouldn't  I?  "  said  Mr.  Bingle  cheerily. 

"  I  suppose  you'll  read  that  ridiculous  Christmas 
Carol  on  Christmas  Eve,"  said  Force  sarcastically. 

"Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Bingle.  "That  reminds 
me;  I  wish  you'd  let  Kathleen  come  down  to  see  us 
on  Christmas  Eve.  I  think  she'd  enjoy  the  read- 
ing." 

"  I'll  do  it,  Bingle,"  said  Force  after  a  moment. 
"  Since  she  has  been  allowed  to  go  down  to  see  you 
and  those  kids  of  yours,  her  whole  view  of  life  has 
changed.  You  were  right,  old  fellow.  I  believe  she 
likes  me  better  as  time  goes  on.  At  any  rate,  she  is 
quite  gay  and  happy,  and  she  doesn't  look  at  me 


DECEMBER  301 

with  scared  eyes  any  longer.  She  kissed  me  as  if 
she  really  meant  it  the  other  day  when  I  told  her 
she  could  have  Freddy  up  to  tea.  I'd  like  to  sug 
gest,  however,  that  you  see  to  it  that  the  flat  is 
thoroughly  aired  and  all  the  germs  blown  out  before 
she  comes  down  again  to — " 

"  You  needn't  worry,  Mr.  Force,"  said  Bingle  with 
out  a  sign  of  resentment  in  his  manner.  "  We  can't 
help  airing  the  flat.  Our  greatest  problem  is  to  keep 
from  airing  it.  There  isn't  a  minute  of  the  day  that 
it  isn't  being  aired." 

Besides  Mr.  Force,  who  was  a  friend  by  circum 
stance  and  not  from  choice,  Bingle  possessed  two 
loyal  and  devoted  friends  in  Diggs  and  Watson, 
proprietors  of  the  Covent  Garden  Consolidated  Fruit 
Company  of  Columbus  Avenue,  Manhattan.  They 
would  have  supplied  him  with  vegetables  and  cured 
meats  without  charge  if  the  thing  could  have  been 
accomplished  without  his  knowledge.  They  came 
often  to  see  him,  Watson  bringing  his  wife,  the 
former  Miss  Stokes,  and  many  a  night  was  made 
cheerful  for  the  little  man  by  these  good  sprites 
from  another  world. 

Mr.  Diggs  resignedly  awaited  the  day  when  Mr. 
Bingle's  maid-of -all-work  could  see  her  way  clear  to 
become  Mrs.  Diggs,  and  the  equal  of  Mrs.  Watson,  if 
not  her  superior  by  virtue  of  the  position  of  her  hus 
band's  name  on  the  firm's  business  cards.  But  if 
Diggs  was  devotedly  loyal  to  Melissa,  Melissa  was 
equally  loyal  to  Mr.  Bingle.  Fifteen  years  of  kind- 


302  MR.  BINGLE 

ness  had  not  been  wasted  on  this  extraordinary  serv 
ant.  She  was  as  true  as  she  was  unique  in  this  age 
of  abominations. 

The  older  children  went  to  a  public  school  not  far 
away,  and  Melissa  looked  after  the  young  ones 
through  the  long,  slow  days,  relieved  only  from  her 
self-imposed  duties  when  Mr.  Bingle  came  home  from 
the  bank.  Neither  Melissa  nor  Mr.  Bingle  had  had 
a  full  day  off  in  all  these  months,  and  neither  com 
plained.  When  Sunday  came,  he  always  urged  her 
to  spend  it  with  friends,  leaving  him  to  attend  to 
the  midday  meal  and  dinner,  but  she  firmly,  even 
arrogantly,  refused  to  permit  any  one  to  meddle 
with  her  kitchen.  She  forced  him  to  go  to  the 
Bronx  every  Sunday  afternoon,  whether  he  would 
or  no,  and  demanded  a  staggering  decrease  in  wages. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Bingle,"  she  said,  "  you  can't  expect 
me  to  work  for  the  same  pay  I  was  getting  out  at 
Seawood.  Don't  be  silly,  sir ;  wasn't  I  getting  more 
out  there  than  the  butler  got?  And  didn't  I  save 
nearly  every  cent  of  it  for  eight  years  and  more? 
I  was  getting  twenty-five  dollars  a  week  out  there, 
wasn't  I?  And  Mr.  Diggs  was  getting  only  a  hun 
dred  dollars  a  month,  wasn't  he?  Well,  how  much 
could  you  afford  to  pay  a  butler  now  if  you  had  one, 
sir?  Two  dollars  a  week  at  the  outside,  find  him 
self.  Well,  I  still  feel  I'm  worth  more  to  you  than 
any  butler  you  could  get,  so  I'll  have  to  insist  on 
three  dollars  a  week  when  convenient.  I  put  away 
about  eight  thousand  dollars  while  I  was  working  for 


DECEMBER  303 

you  at  Seawood.  It's  in  the  savings  banks  now, 
every  nickel  of  it,  drawing  three  and  a  half  and  four 
per  cent.,  or  about  twenty-five  dollars  a  month,  sir. 
Twelve  and  twenty-five  makes  thirty-seven  a  month, 
don't  it?  That's  more  than  most  girls  are  getting, 
and  it's  certainly  more  than  any  of  'em  is  worth, 
judging  from  what  I've  seen.  So  if  you'll  just  con 
sider  that  I'm  getting  thirty-seven  a  month  out  of 
you,  Mr.  Bingle,  we  won't  argue  any  longer." 

"  But,  my  dear  Melissa,  we  must  consider  poor 
Diggs.  It  isn't  fair  to  keep  him  waiting.  I  fear  I 
shall  have  to  discharge  you.  It  seems  to  be  the  only 
way  to  make  you  and  Diggs  happy.  I  shall  dis 
charge  you  without  a  recommendation,  too.  We 
can't  have  Diggs  dying  of  old  age  while  we  are  dis 
cussing  what  is  to  become  of  him.  It  is  your  duty 
to  marry  Diggs  at  once.  You  must  remember  that 
I  do  not  want  you  in  my  employ.  You  must  not 
forget  that  I  told  you  so  six  months  ago  and  that  I 
even  tried  to  lock  you  out.  Now,  you  certainly  do 
not  care  to  work  for  a  man  who  despises  you,  who 
doesn't  want  you  around,  who  is  doing  his  level  best 
to  get  rid  of  you,  who  — " 

"  Oh,  shucks,  Mr.  Bingle !  "  cried  Melissa,  with  her 
comely  grin.  "  Sit  down  and  have  your  breakfast 
now.  Don't  worry  about  Mr.  Diggs.  He  is  having 
the  time  of  his  life  courting  me.  At  least,  he  acts 
as  if  he  is.  It  won't  hurt  him  to  be  engaged  for  a 
couple  of  years." 

"  But  see  how  happy  Watson  is." 


304  MR.  BINGLE 

"  I  see  all  right,"  she  said  shrewdly ;  "  and  it 
won't  hurt  Mr.  Diggs  to  see  how  happy  he  is,  either." 

"  You  are  the  most  selfish  girl  I've  ever  known, 
Melissa,"  said  he  quaintly.  "  You  won't  let  any 
body  else  have  a  thing  to  say  about  it,  will  you  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Melissa.     "  I'm  a  perfect  brute." 

Mr.  Epps  was  a  regular  visitor.  He  came  once  a 
month  and  never  later  than  the  first.  The  rent  was 
twenty-two  dollars  a  month.  Mr.  Epps  was  always 
expecting  that  it  wouldn't  be  paid.  He  never  failed 
to  make  a  point  of  telling  Mr.  Bingle  that  he  was 
what  you  might  call  a  soft-hearted  lummix  and  for 
that  reason  it  always  went  hard  with  him  to  evict  a 
tenant  for  not  paying  his  rent  on  the  minute.  He 
talked  a  great  deal  about  the  people  he  had  chucked 
out  into  the  street  and  how  unhappy  the  life  of  a 
renting  agent  could  be  at  times.  Once  he  gave  Mr. 
Bingle  a  cigar. 

"  Sure  I'm  not  robbing  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  Bingle. 

«  No,"  said  Mr.  Epps.     "  I  don't  smoke." 

There  was  one  Broadway  theatre  in  which  it  was 
impossible  to  obtain  seats  unless  they  were  applied 
for  weeks  in  advance.  The  leading  lady  in  the  com 
pany  playing  there  was  not  so  important  a  person 
age  that  she  could  deny  herself  the  pleasant  sensation 
of  being  a  real  woman,  and  the  author  of  the  play 
was  not  so  high  and  mighty  that  one  had  to  use  a 
ten-foot  pole  in  touching  him. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richard  Sheridan  Flanders  paid  fre 
quent  visits  to  the  home  of  Mr.  Bingle.  The  beauti- 


DECEMBER  305 

ful  and  popular  Miss  Colgate,  the  sensation  of  the 
early  season  and  a  certain  candidate  for  stellar 
honours,  never  came  to  see  the  young  Bingles  with 
out  betraying  a  spirit  of  generosity  which  some 
times  caused  Mr.  Bingle  to  sit  up  half  the  night  treat 
ing  stomach-aches  of  all  ages  and  degrees.  She 
brought  candy  and  cakes  and  fruit  for  the  children, 
and  flowers  for  Mr.  Bingle.  She  would  have  come 
laden  with  more  substantial  and  less  pernicious  pres 
ents  but  for  the  gentle  objections  of  her  old  friend 
and  benefactor.  In  the  face  of  his  kindly  protests, 
she  abandoned  certain  well-meant,  even  cherished 
ideas,  and  was  often  sore  at  heart. 

Dick  Flanders  had  found  a  producer  after  all.  His 
hopes,  considerably  dashed  by  the  Supreme  Court  of 
the  United  States  of  America,  were  at  a  low  ebb  when 
a  practically  unknown  manager  from  the  Far  West 
concluded  that  there  was  more  to  his  play  than  the 
wise  men  of  the  East  were  able  to  discern  at  a  glance. 
With  more  sense  than  intelligence,  the  Westerner 
leaped  into  the  heart  of  New  York  with  a  new  play 
by  a  new  author  and  scored  a  success  from  the  open 
ing  night.  Amy  Colgate,  an  unknown  actress,  be 
came  famous  in  a  night,  so  to  speak.  After  the 
holidays,  there  would  be  a  company  playing  the  piece 
in  Chicago,  and  another  doing  the  "  big  stands " 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land. 
So  much  for  Mr.  Flanders'  play  and  Miss  Amy 
Colgate. 

Mr.   Bingle  never   ceased   congratulating  himself 


306  MR.  BINGLE 

and  his  two  successful  friends  on  the  fact  that  he 
had  not  invested  a  cent  of  the  Hooper  fortune  in 
the  production.  For,  said  he,  if  he  had  put  a  penny 
into  it,  the  Hooper  heirs  would  now  be  dividing  the 
profits  with  Flanders. 

"  Luck  was  with  us  for  once,  Dick,"  he  was  prone 
to  repeat,  "  A  week  later  and  we  would  have  been 
desperately  involved.  I  would  have  put  up  the  initial 
ten  thousand  dollars  for  the  production  and  you 
would  have  been  saddled  with  Geoffrey  and  his  sisters, 
perhaps  for  life  —  and  I  can't  imagine  anything 
more  unnecessary  than  that.  Yes,  sir,  the  smash 
came  just  in  the  nick  o'  time.  What  at  first  ap 
peared  to  you  to  be  a  calamity  turned  out  to  be  a 
God-send,  my  boy.  The  Supreme  Court  behaved 
handsomely  by  you." 

This  always  brought  out  a  vigorous  protest  from 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Flanders.  They  stoutly  maintained 
that  Mr.  Bingle  was  an  original  partner  in  the  enter 
prise,  and,  when  it  came  right  down  to  tacks,  had  put 
quite  as  much  capital  into  the  business  as  either  of 
them.  They  contended  that  he  should  have  a  share 
in  the  royalties,  if  not  in  the  profits. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mr.  Bingle,  you  made  so 
many  valuable  suggestions  in  respect  to  the  play  — 
dialogues,  construction  and  so  forth  —  that  you 
really  ought  to  take  some  of  the  consequences,"  said 
Flanders.  "  It  isn't  fair  to  put  all  the  blame  upon 
me.  For  instance,  who  was  responsible  for  cutting 
out  that  scene  in  the  second  act?  " 


DECEMBER  307 

"  Mrs.  Bingle,"  said  the  other  promptly.  "  She 
thought  it  was  too  suggestive." 

"  Well,  it  certainly  was  you,  sir,  who  advised  me  to 
make  more  of  the  scene  between  Deborah  and  the  old 
gentleman  in  the  last  act.  As  you  know,  it  is  now 
the  great  scene  in  the  play.  You  will  not  pretend 
to  deny  — " 

"  Advice  is  one  thing,  Dick,  and  following  it  is 
quite  another.  No,  you  can't  make  me  believe  that  I 
did  anything  toward  writing  that  play.  A  man  who 
didn't  know  the  difference  between  a  cue  line  and  a 
back  drop  can't  very  well  be  indicted  for  complicity. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  Mrs.  Flanders,  I  don't  know  to 
this  day  what  those  initials,  6  L.  U.  E.?  stand  for, 
and  a  lot  of  other  initials  as  well.  Pride  kept  me 
from  inquiring.  I  didn't  want  to  expose  my  igno 
rance  about  a  thing  that  you  and  Dick  talked  about 
so  glibly.  What  does  <  L.  U.  E.'  mean?  " 

"  *  Left  Upper  Entrance,'  Mr.  Bingle,"  said  she 
with  a  laugh. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  the  mystery  is  revealed  at  last. 
I've  laid  awake  nights  trying  to  conjure  up  words  to 
fit  those  letters.  « R.  U.  E.'  means  «  right,'  I  sup 
pose.  Dear  me,  how  simple  it  seems,  after  all." 

"  Now,  see  here,  Mr.  Bingle,"  Flanders  would  say, 
"  you  went  into*  partnership  with  me  last  winter, 
that's  the  long  and  short  of  it.  It  wasn't  your 
fault  that  you  couldn't  put  up  the  money  according 
to  our  agreement,  but  I  want  to  say  to  you  that  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  your  encouragement  and  advice  I 


308  MR.  BINGLE 

never  would  have  finished  the  play  and  I  certainly 
could  not  have  scraped  up  the  courage  to  get  mar 
ried  when  I  did.  Amy  and  I  have  always  looked 
upon  you  as  a  partner  in  our  success.  Now,  I'll  tell 
you  precisely  what  we've  decided  upon  as  a  fair  di 
vision  of  the  royalties  that  I  am  receiving.  You  are 
to  take  the  author's  royalty  from  the  number  three 
company  —  the  one  that  is  to  play  the  6  road  '  for 
this  season  and  next.  It  is  to  be  a  three  cornered  ar 
rangement.  Amy  helped  to  develop  the  play,  so  she 
is  to  have  the  royalty  from  the  Chicago  company, 
while  I  shall  receive  all  that  comes  out  of  the  New 
York  run.  This  arrangement  will  hold  good  for  two 
seasons.  After  that,  we'll  make  a  new  arrangement, 
taking  in  the  stock  rights,  moving  pictures  and  - 

But  Mr.  Bingle  would  listen  to  no  more.  Always 
when  Flanders  got  just  so  far  in  his  well-meant, 
earnest  propositions,  the  object  of  his  concern  would 
stop  him  in  such  a  gentle,  dignified  manner  that  the 
young  playwright  would  flush  with  the  consciousness 
that  he  had  given  offence  to  an  honest  soul. 

Mr.  Bingle  defeated  every  enterprise  on  the  part 
of  his  few  friends  that  had  the  appearance  of  charity. 
He  accepted  their  good  intentions,  he  delighted  in 
their  thoughtfulness  and  esteem,  but  he  never  per 
mitted  them  to  go  beyond  a  certain  well-defined  line. 
The  argument  that  he  had  been  generous,  even 
philanthropic,  in  his  days  of  prosperity  was  invari 
ably  met  by  the  quaint  contention  that  while  the  Good 
Book  teaches  charity,  the  dictionary  makes  a  point 


DECEMBER  309 

of  defining  it,  and  "  you  can't  spell  charity,  my  friend, 
with  the  letters  that  are  allotted  to  generosity.  So 
don't  quote  the  Bible  to  me." 

He  put  a  stop  to  the  cunning  schemes  of  Diggs  and 
Watson,  who,  with  Melissa's  connivance,  began  a 
regular  and  systematic  attempt  to  smuggle  bacon, 
eggs,  butter  and  potatoes  into  the  kitchen.  This 
project  of  theirs  at  first  comprehended  vegetables  of 
every  description  and  fruits  as  well,  but  the  sagacious 
house-maid  vetoed  anything  so  wholesale  as  all  that. 
She  agreed  that  the  accidental  delivery  of  a  side  of 
bacon,  or  a  mistake  in  the  counting  of  a  dozen  eggs, 
or  the  overweighing  and  undercharging  of  a  pound 
of  butter,  or  the  perfectly  natural  error  of  sending 
a  peck  and  a  half  of  potatoes  when  only  a  peck  was 
ordered,  might  escape  the  keen  observation  of  Mr. 
Bingle,  but  that  anything  more  noticeable  would 
cause  the  good  gentleman  to  take  his  trade  else 
where.  As  she  said  to  the  distressed  Diggs  one  eve 
ning,  after  carefully  observing  that  the  kitchen  door 
was  closed :  "  When  I  order  a  half  ton  of  coal  from 
you  for  the  parlour  stove,  there's  no  sense  in  you 
weighing  it  out  by  ounces.  Guess  at  it,  and  then 
after  you've  guessed  as  near  right  as  you  know  how, 
double  the  amount.  Mr.  Bingle  isn't  going  to  weigh 
the  coal,  you  know.  And  when  it  comes  to  rice  and 
hominy  and  cooking  apples  and  all  such  things,  just 
let  your  imagination  do  the  measuring.  If  a  pound 
of  coffee  happens  to  look  like  a  pound  and  a  half  to 
you,  don't  forget  the  extra  cups  you  used  to  have 


310  MR.  BINGLE 

every  afternoon  at  Seawood.  And  if  I  should  hap 
pen  to  send  for  the  cheapest  tea  you've  got  in  stock, 
don't  overlook  the  fact  that  there  is  an  expensive  kind. 
Once  in  a  while  you  might  make  me  a  present  of  a 
couple  of  dozen  oranges,  some  bananas  and  nuts,  and 
you  might  sometimes  ask  Mr.  Bingle  to  sample  a  new 
brand  of  smoking  tobacco  you're  thinking  of  carry- 
ing." 

"  But  we  sha'n't  carry  tobaccos,"  said  Mr.  Diggs, 
who  aside  from  being  a  good  soul  was  also  British. 

"  All  the  more  reason  why  you  should  be  thinking 
of  carrying  'em,  isn't  it,  you  stupid  ?  " 

Mr.  Bingle  saw  the  opening  performance  of  the 
Flanders  play  and  went  behind  the  scenes  afterward. 
He  did  this,  he  explained,  so  that  he  could  describe  his 
sensations  to  Mrs.  Bingle.  He  was  introduced  to  all 
of  the  players  and  they  were  so  uniformly  polite 
that  he  fell  into  a  fine  fury  the  next  morning  on  read 
ing  the  newspaper  review  in  which  they  were  described 
as  "  unintentionally  adequate." 

He  knew  as  well  as  every  one  else  that  it  would  be 
impossible  for  him  to  keep  the  children  on  the  salary 
he  was  receiving  at  the  bank.  He  knew  that  the 
day  was  not  far  off  when  he  would  have  to  give  them 
up.  His  fellow  bookkeepers  harangued  him  from 
morning  till  night.  They  made  themselves  obnox 
ious  with  their  everlasting  talk  about  being  unable  to 
support  families  one-fourth  the  size  of  his ;  and  one  or 
two  slyly  inquired  whether  he  hadn't  "  salted  away  " 
a  part  of  the  Hooper  money  for  a  perpetual  spell  of 


DECEMBER  311 

rainy  weather.  In  justice  to  the  children  themselves 
it  would  be  necessary  for  him,  before  long,  to  set 
about  finding  suitable,  respectable  homes  for  them. 
It  was  this  unhappy  sense  of  realisation  that  put  the 
new  furrows  in  his  brow  and  took  the  colour  out  of 
his  cheek,  the  lustre  from  his  eyes. 

One  day  he  was  approached  by  Rouquin,  volatile 
and  cheery  as  in  the  days  of  old.  The  sprightly 
Frenchman  was  beaming  with  friendliness  and  good 
spirits.  He  conveyed  a  startling  bit  of  personal  news 
to  Mr.  Bingle  without  the  slighest  trace  of  shame  or 
embarrassment. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Bingle,  I  have  married  her,"  he  said 
shrugging  his  shoulders  in  a  manner  that  might  have 
signified  either  extreme  satisfaction  with  himself  or 
lamentation  over  the  inevitable.  "  The  day  before 
yesterday.  I  am  now  a  proud  and  happy  father,  old 
friend." 

"  Father  ? "  murmured  Mr.  Bingle,  bewildered. 
"  You  —  mean  bridegroom,  Rouquin." 

"  So  I  do,"  cried  Rouquin  amiably.  "  But  you 
forget  Napoleon  —  little  Napoleon,"  he  went  on 
gaily. 

"  You  have  married  Napoleon's  mother  ?  " 

"  Le  diable!  But  who  else,  M'sieur?  The  charm 
ing,  adorable  Mademoiselle  Vallemont.  Ah,  my  good 
friend,  I  am  so  happy.  I  am  — " 

"  Vallemont?  But  Madame  Rousseau  —  you  seem 
to  forget  that  she  is  the  mother  of  Napoleon. 
You—" 


MR.  BINGLE 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Rouquin,  with  a  gay  sweep  of 
his  hand  before  laying  it  tenderly  upon  his  heart,  "  I 
have  married  the  mother  of  Napoleon.  Alas,  my 
good  friend,  Madame  Rousseau  is  no  more.  She  died 
when  she  was  but  one  day  old.  And  her  excellent 
husband,  the  splendid  Jean,  he  also  is  a  thing  of  the 
past.  Now  there  is  no  one  left  but  Madame  Rouquin 
and  me  and  that  adorable  Napoleon.  Vive  1'Em- 
peror!  Come,  M'sieur,  congratulate  me.  See! 
This  cablegram  provides  Napoleon  with  a  father. 
But  for  what  this  little  bit  of  paper  says,  the  poor 
enfant  might  have  gone  fatherless  to  his  grave.  See ! 
It  says  here  that  my  wife  has  died.  Read  for  your 
self,  M'sieur.  It  is  in  French,  but  what  matter?  I 
shall  translate.  *  Raoul  Rouquin :  Blanche  died  to 
day.  Good  luck.'  See,  it  is  signed  *  Pierre.'  Pierre 
he  is  my  brother.  He  lives  in  Paris.  Ah,  so  long 
have  I  waited !  You  may  never  know  my  despair  — 
never,  M'sieur.  But  my  wife  she  has  died,  so  all  is 
well.  The  day  before  yesterday  I  was  married.  I 
take—" 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Rouquin,"  gasped  Mr.  Bingle ; 
"not  so  fast!  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking 
about." 

"Ah,  it  is  so  simple,"  sighed  Rouquin,  looking 
upon  Mr.  Bingle  with  pity  in  his  eyes.  "  Can  you 
not  see  ?  So  long  as  my  wife  was  alive  I  could  not  be 
married.  Is  that  not  plain  to  you?  Then  she  dies. 
Quick!  Instantly  I  am  married.  Voila!  It  is  so 
simple.5' 


DECEMBER  313 

Mr.  Bingle  comprehended  at  last.  "  I  see.  You 
have  had  a  wife  in  Paris  all  these  years,  eh?  " 

"  Mon  Dieu!  Yes,  all  these  years,"  groaned 
Rouquin,  rolling  his  eyes.  "  See !  See  what  my 
brother  Pierre  says :  *  Blanche  died  to-day.  Good 
luck.'  Good  luck !  Mon  Dieu,  M'sieur,  is  it  possible 
that  you  do  not  know  what  '  good  luck '  means  ?  " 

"  And  you  have  married  Madame  Rous  —  or  what 
ever  her  name  is  ?  " 

"  So  quick  as  that ! "  cried  Rouquin,  snapping  his 
fingers.  "  And  now,  M'sieur,  when  may  I  come  to 
take  little  Napoleon  home  to  his  mother?  " 

Thus  it  came  about  that  Napoleon  was  the  first  to 
go.  Amid  great  pomp  and  ceremony,  he  departed 
from  the  home  of  the  many  Bingles  on  a  bright,  clear 
day  in  December,  shortly  after  banking  hours,  at 
tended  by  his  own  mother  and  father. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ANOTHER    CHRISTMAS    EVE 

CHRISTMAS  was  drawing  near.  The  Bingle  chil 
dren,  accustomed  to  manifold  and  expensive  presents, 
were  in  a  state  of  doubt  and  hope  combined.  The 
older  ones  realised  that  while  Santa  would  not  pass 
them  by  without  a  sign,  there  was  every  reason  to  be 
lieve  that  he  would  not  deliver  the  things  for  which 
they  slyly  petitioned,  the  things  they  most  desired. 
They  had  been  brought  up  to  receive  all  that  they  ex 
pected  and  the  prospect  ahead  for  them  was  not  reas 
suring  from  the  viewpoint  their  intelligence  forced 
them  to  take.  There  were  secret  lamentations  and 
not  a  few  surly  discussions  in  the  absence  of  Mr. 
Bingle. 

Melissa  took  the  older  boys  to  task  for  some  of 
the  things  they  said  about  their  foster  father. 
Frederick  was  the  chief  offender.  He  knew  that  Mr. 
Bingle's  pocket-book  was  the  real  Santa  Claus,  and 
he  wanted  a  pair  of  skates  and  a  hockey  outfit. 
Something  told  him  that  he  would  be  compelled  to  ac 
cept  in  lieu  of  these  necessities  a  silly  overcoat  or  a 
pair  of  shoes  from  the  cheap  department  store  up  the 
street.  He  was  too  young  and  no  doubt  too  selfish 
to  admit  that  he  was  by  way  of  outgrowing  his  clothes 

at  least  once  if  not  twice  a  year,  or  that  there  is  such 

314 


ANOTHER  CHRISTMAS  EVE          315 

a  spectre  as  wear  and  tear.  He  became  sullen,  irri 
table  and  not  infrequently  rude  to  Mr.  Bingle.  Once 
when  Melissa  sharply  rebuked  him  for  his  ingrati 
tude,  he  came  back  at  her  with  an  argument  that 
baffled  her  for  the  time  being:  he  could  not  see  why 
Mr.  Bingle  had  been  so  good  to  Kathleen.  Why  had 
she  been  given  a  rich,  happy  home  while  he  and  all  of 
the  others  were  brought  to  a  place  like  this  ?  Melissa, 
finding  no  immediate  response  to  this,  boxed  his  ears. 

The  younger  members  of  the  brood  were  not  in 
volved  in  this  graceless  agitation.  The  complaints 
stopped  with  Guinivere.  Harold,  Rosemary  and 
Rutherford  were  too  young  to  realise  the  state  of 
destitution  into  which  the  family  had  fallen.  They 
were  quite  happy,  contented  and,  so  far,  unaware  of 
the  gravity  of  a  situation  which  was  more  or  less  ap 
parent  to  their  elders.  Frederick,  Marie  Louise  and 
Wilberforce  formed  the  higher  group  of  malcontents, 
and  their  mutterings  reached  the  acute  ears  of  a 
second  and  less  formidable  group  composed  of  Regi 
nald,  Henrietta  and  Guinivere.  The  influence  of  the 
three  older  children,  envied  and  imitated  by  the  next 
three  in  order  of  age,  was  responsible  for  the  inclu 
sion  of  this  second  group  in  the  general  tendency  to 
ward  unruliness  and  resentfulness. 

Mr.  Bingle  sensed  this  unhappy  condition  of  af 
fairs.  His  soul  was  sorely  tried.  Was  he  doing  the 
right  thing  by  these  children?  He  was  doing  his 
best,  but  was  his  best  all  that  they  were  entitled  to 
under  the  circumstances?  Was  he  depriving  them  of 


316  MR.  BINGLE 

a  bigger  chance  in  life?  He  had  taken  them  out  of 
the  byways,  but  was  he  leading  them  to  the  highways  ? 
The  whining,  peevish  submission  on  the  part  of  the 
larger  boys  and  girls;  the  unmistakable  interroga 
tion  that  always  lurked  in  their  eyes;  the  frequent 
outbursts  of  temper ;  the  quarrels  that  came  up  every 
day  among  them  —  all  of  these  went  to  prove  they 
were  sliding  back  into  the  byways.  There  was  no 
gainsaying  that,  he  would  say  to  himself.  Insolence, 
insubordination  grew  apace.  Once  Frederick,  in  the 
heat  of  passion  over  a  well-deserved  rebuke,  called 
him  a  "  damned  old  fool." 

Moreover,  was  he  doing  right  by  Mrs.  Bingle? 
Was  it  possible  that  she  might  never  come  back  to  him 
who  loved  her  more  than  he  could  have  loved  even  a 
child  of  his  own?  Would  he  be  the  one  to  blame? 

And  so  it  came  about  that  he  finally  consented  to 
listen  to  the  suggestions  of  the  cold  and  unemotional 
Mrs.  Force. 

The  wife  of  the  president  of  the  bank  was  the  sort 
of  person  who  gets  into  the  newspapers  by  all  the 
hooks  and  crooks  known  to  her  sex.  To  begin  with, 
she  made  charity  a  business.  As  Chairman  of  two  or 
three  organisations  declaring  for  the  betterment  of 
society,  high  and  low,  she  was  quoted  on  nearly  every 
question  that  came  up  for  discussion  in  the  public 
prints.  She  recognised  the  advantage  in  her  day  of 
being  an  anti-suffragist.  She  saw  the  value  of  asso 
ciating  herself  with  the  movement  to  create  and  main 
tain  a  bureau  for  the  distribution  of  high  class  litera- 


ANOTHER  CHRISTMAS  EVE         317 

ture  among  low  class  readers,  and  she  belonged  to  a 
society  which  elevated  the  stage  by  giving  Sunday 
night  dress  rehearsals  for  the  benefit  of  destitute 
millionaires.  She  had  a  conspicuous  box  at  the 
Opera,  and  encouraged  the  Society  for  the  Preven 
tion  of  Cruelty  to  Animals  by  appearing  at  the  Horse 
Show  in  Madison  Garden  without  spurs. 

But  it  was  as  President  of  the  Society  for  the  Res 
toration  of  King  Manuel  to  the  throne  of  Portugal 
that  she  arose  above  the  ordinary  multitude  of  pub 
licity  seekers.  This  was  a  movement  so  unique  and 
so  suggestive  of  pomp  that  many  of  the  prominent 
show-girls  tried  to  promote  themselves  into  royal 
notice  by  joining  the  society.  They  were  almost 
unanimously  in  favour  of  the  Restoration.  Mrs. 
Force  was  constantly  being  interviewed  about  the 
hopes  and  designs  of  King  Manuel,  and  she  was  al 
ways  quoted  as  saying  that  the  "  time  is  not  yet  ripe 
for  the  unfolding  of  our  plans  or  I  would  be  only  too 
happy  to  tell  you  everything  —  and  I  may  be  able 
to  give  you  something  of  interest  next  week  if  you  will 
call  me  up." 

Soon  after  the  Single  disaster,  she  allied  herself 
with  a  Society  for  the  Relief  of  Incompetent  Parents, 
and  later  on  took  up  the  cause  of  Children's  Rights 
and  Wrongs.  Quite  palpably  it  was  Mr.  Bingle's 
dilemma  that  inspired  her  to  interest  herself  in  these 
hitherto  neglected  enterprises.  She  began  her  duties 
as  a  member  and  supporter  of  the  causes  by  at  once 
declaring  war  upon  poor  Mr.  Bingle.  She  put  him 


318  MR.  BINGLE 

into  a  state  of  siege  before  he  even  suspected  that 
hostilities  had  begun,  and  then  constituted  herself 
Red  Cross  nurse,  sanitary  expert,  peace  intermediary, 
and  everything  else  that  she  could  think  of  at  the  time. 

Operations  began  in  November.  She  had  Mr. 
Single  brought  into  her  husband's  private  office  at  the 
bank,  and  there  she  explained  the  motives  and  objects 
of  the  Society  and  talked  unrestrainedly  of  the  rights 
of  little  children,  calmly  assuming  that  the  astonished 
bookkeeper  had  no  rights  of  his  own  and  therefore 
was  not  entitled  to  a  word  in  the  shape  of  inter 
ruption. 

"  Purely  as  a  matter  of  humanity,  Mr.  Bingle,  it  is 
necessary  for  the  Society  to  take  these  children  away 
from  you.  We  are  taking  children  away  from  their 
natural  parents  every  day  and  finding  suitable  homes 
for  them,  so  it  isn't  reasonable  for  you  to  stand  in  our 
way,  realising,  as  you  must,  that  you  are  not  the 
father  of  a  single  one  of  those  poor  innocents,  all  of 
whom  are  morally  if  not  legally  the  property  of  this 
or  kindred  societies.  We  do  not  recognise  the  rights 
of  a  parent,  so  why  should  we  consider  those  of  one 
who  attempts,  through  a  mistaken  idea  of  benevolence, 
to  direct  the  future,  the  destiny  of  —  ah  —  the  des 
tiny  of —  But  surely  you  know  what  I  mean,  Mr. 
Bingle.  Now,  I  am  not  questioning  the  sincerity  of 
your  motives.  I  am  heartily  in  accord  with  the  origi 
nal  inspiration  which  led  you  to  take  these  poor  waifs 
into  your  home.  But,  don't  you  see,  the  idea  works 


ANOTHER  CHRISTMAS  EVE          319 

both  ways.  Charity  begins  at  home,  to  be  sure,  but 
I  submit  that  it  all  depends  upon  the  character  of 
the  home.  I  do  not  call  a  four  room  flat  a  home.  It 
may  be  all  right  for  charity  to  begin  there,  in  a  small 
way,  but  it  shouldn't  drive  out  common  sense,  Mr. 
Bingle.  The  Society  will  take  these  children  off  of 
your  hands.  It  will  provide  for  them  in  every  way. 
Come,  now,  give  me  a  complete  list  of  the  little  ones 
and—" 

"  I'll  —  I'll  think  it  over,  Mrs.  Force,"  said  Mr. 
Bingle  desolately.  "  I  can't  be  expected  to  see  it 
from  your  point  of  view  right  at  the  start,  you  know. 
Let  me  go  on  for  a  year  or  two  longer  and  then  — " 

"  No,"  said  she  firmly,  fixing  him  with  a  relentless 
eye.  "  We  would  regret  exceedingly  to  be  forced  to 
call  upon  the  authorities  in  the  case,  Mr.  Bingle.  Of 
course,  you  are  aware  that  we  can  invoke  the  aid  — " 

"  Oh,  goodness  no ! "  cried  Mr.  Bingle  piteously. 
"  You  wouldn't  think  of  taking  them  from  me  in  that 
way,  would  you,  Mrs.  Force?" 

"  For  your  sake  and  for  theirs  it  may  be  neces 
sary,"  said  she,  and  then  wearying  of  her  philan 
thropic  labours,  abruptly  dismissed  him  with  a  curt: 
"  And  now,  goodday,  Mr.  Bingle." 

Agents  from  the  Society  began  to  visit  the  little 
flat;  others  made  a  practice  of  seeing  that  the  older 
children  went  to  school  every  day,  and,  if  they  were 
absent,  to  pester  Mr.  Bingle  with  inquiries.  Once 
when  Wilberforce  had  a  sore  throat,  a  strange  and 


320  MR.  BINGLE 

extremely  business-like  doctor  called  and  took  a  cul 
ture,  at  the  same  time  making  a  note  of  the  congested 
condition  of  the  sleeping  quarters. 

Then  Mrs.  Force  took  to  bringing  fashionably 
dressed  ladies  to  the  flat  so  that  they  might  see  for 
themselves ;  and  docile  looking  gentlemen  in  dark 
clothes  and  goloshes  came  to  mutter  over  the  extraor 
dinary  impropriety  of  allowing  boys  and  girls  to  live 
in  the  same  home  together. 

Soon  after  Napoleon  was  taken  away  by  the  bride 
and  bridegroom,  Mrs.  Force  came  with  her  secretary 
and  interviewed  the  children.  The  secretary  took 
down  notes  while  Mrs.  Force  put  the  questions  to  the 
older  boys  and  girls.  Mr.  Bingle  had  been  virtually 
ordered  out  of  the  room.  Afterwards  he  was  called 
in  to  hear  the  report  which  showed  that  Frederick, 
Marie  Louise,  Wilberforce  and  Reginald  seldom  had 
enough  to  eat,  were  always  cold  and  unhappy,  and 
were  really  quite  eager  to  go  into  other  homes,  if  it 
would  help  "  poor  daddy."  The  smaller  children 
whimpered,  but  it  was  because  they  were  overawed 
and  frightened  by  Mrs.  Force,  who  in  the  Seawood 
days  had  always  been  looked  upon  by  them  as  the 
"  bad  fairy."  Melissa,  good  soul,  openly  professed 
that  she  and  Mr.  Bingle  could  manage  to  take  care  of 
the  "  kids  "  all  right,  but  in  secret  she  prayed  that 
the  Society  would  take  away  a  half  a  dozen  or  so  of 
the  little  ingrates. 

At  last  Mr.  Bingle  agreed  to  let  the  children  go, 
but  stipulated  that  they  should  be  sent  direct  to  pri- 


ANOTHER  CHRISTMAS  EVE         321 

vate  homes,  and  not  go,  like  a  flock  of  sheep,  into  an 
asylum  or  Orphans'  Home  from  which  they  might  be 
parcelled  out  singly  to  any  Tom,  Dick  or  Harry  who 
came  to  look  them  over.  He  also  insisted  on  having 
the  prospective  "  bidders  "  apply  to  him  in  person. 
He  would  be  the  judge.  He  would  look  them  over, 
and  if  they  suited  him,  all  well  and  good ;  if  not,  he 
would  keep  the  children  until  the  right  and  proper 
persons  came  along. 

His  stand  was  a  firm  one.  He  refused  to  recede  an 
inch  from  this  final  position.  In  vain  they  argued 
that  it  would  be  the  part  of  wisdom,  in  fact  that  it 
would  be  absolutely  imperative  to  take  them  to  a 
comfortable,  commodious  dormitory  where  the  busi 
ness  end  of  such  undertakings  was  attended  to  in 
routine  order  and  not  in  the  helter-skelter  fashion 
that  he  advocated. 

"  I  have  just  begun  to  realise,"  he  said,  "  what  it  is 
to  try  to  bring  other  people's  children  up  for  them, 
so,  if  you  please,  I  submit  that  I  know  more  about  the 
business  than  this  society  knows  or  ever  can  hope  to 
know.  I  have  given  them  everything.  I  have  loved 
them  and  they  have  loved  me.  In  adversity  I  still 
love  them,  but  I  fear  that  I  cannot  say  as  much  for 
them.  They  are  not  my  flesh  and  blood.  They  know 
it,  my  friends  —  they've  never  been  led  to  believe 
that  anything  else  is  the  case.  Now,  I  am  ready  and 
willing  to  carry  out  my  obligations  to  them.  I  am 
prepared  to  do  all  that  is  in  my  power  to  bring  them 
up  in  the  right  way,  to  make  good  men  and  women 


MR.  BINGLE 

of  them.  I  am  not  willing,  however,  to  palm  them  off 
on  other  people  without  first  telling  those  people  what 
they  are  to  expect.  I  do  not  blame  these  boys  and 
girls  for  resenting  what  fate  has  brought  them  to. 
It  is  quite  natural  that  they  should  feel  as  they  do. 
I  do  not  call  it  ingratitude.  It  is  human  nature. 
Even  a  small  boy  may  reveal  symptoms  of  human  na 
ture,  Mrs.  Force,  if  you  get  him  into  a  corner.  Now, 
I  want  to  say  to  you  and  your  friends  here  that  I 
will  let  them  go  on  one  condition,  and  that  is  that 
each  goes  into  a  home  that  I  personally  approve  of 
and  only  after  I  have  told  the  head  of  that  home  all 
that  I  know  about  the  child  he  seeks  to  adopt.  I  ap 
preciate  your  interest  in  my  behalf  and  I  thank  you 
for  your  untiring  efforts.  I  believe  that  you  are 
sincerely  in  earnest.  But  I  ask  you  to  do  me  the 
honour  of  permitting  me  to  get  out  of  my  bad  bar 
gain  in  my  own  way  and  in  my  own  time.  There  is 
no  especial  need  of  haste." 

It  was  pointed  out  to  him  that  many  of  those  de 
siring  to  adopt  children  lived  in  distant  states  and 
cities,  principally  in  small  towns  or  upon  farms.  It 
might  be  impossible  for  them  to  come  to  New  York  to 
see  him  or  the  children.  He  still  refused  to  give  an 
inch. 

And  so  the  Society,  satisfied  that  it  had  achieved  a 
victory,  set  about  to  find  fathers  and  mothers  for 
the  nine  Bingles,  and  Mr.  Bingle  sat  down  to  wait  for 
the  final  struggle  that  was  to  come,  or,  more  properly 
speaking,  for  the  nine  separate  struggles  that  lay 


ANOTHER  CHRISTMAS  EVE          323 

ahead  of  him.  The  children  were  told  what  they 
might  expect  in  the  near  future,  and  Mr.  Bingle's 
heart  was  sorely  hurt  by  the  very  evident  enthusiasm 
with  which  they  received  the  news.  The  younger 
ones,  swept  along  by  the  current,  and  less  subtle  than 
their  elders,  plied  Mr.  Single  with  a  hundred  eager, 
innocent  questions,  and  every  one  of  them  seemed  to 
look  upon  the  coming  separation  as  a  lark !  It  was 
not  unusual  to  catch  two  or  three  of  the  older  ones 
slyly,  but  excitedly  discussing  the  prospective  change, 
and  always  they  averted  their  eyes  and  dropped  their 
voices  when  Mr.  Bingle  drew  near.  Once  he  heard 
Marie  Louise  say  in  anger  to  Wilberforce  that  she'd 
bet  daddy  would  keep  her  to  the  last  because  she  was 
getting  big  enough  to  wash  dishes  and  make  beds ! 

The  poor  man  was  beginning  to  lose  faith,  not  in 
human  nature  alone,  but  in  himself.  He  grimly  re 
marked  to  Melissa  one  day  that  "  it  isn't  safe  to  count 
chickens  even  after  they  are  hatched,  especially  when 
your  eyes  are  smarting.  I  thought  I  knew  more  than 
God,  Melissa,  and  if  there  was  a  bramble  bush  handy 
I'd  jump  into  it  in  the  hope  that  I  might  scratch  my 
eyes  back  in  again,  as  the  saying  goes." 

"  Well,  anyhow,  Mr.  Bingle,"  Melissa  replied,  im 
pressed  by  this  confession  of  failure,  "  as  soon  as  the 
kids  have  left  we'll  have  Mrs.  Bingle  back  again,  and 
that's  something  to  look  forward  to,  sir.  We'll  go 
back  to  the  old  way  of  living,  which  was  the  best, 
after  all,  wasn't  it?  Just  you  and  me  and  Mrs. 
Bingle." 


324  MR.  BINGLE 

Mr.  Bingle  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "  When  you 
and  Diggs  are  married,  Melissa,  don't  make  the  mis 
take  of  adopting  a  child." 

"We  won't,  sir,"  said  Melissa  confidently.  She 
twisted  the  corner  of  her  apron  for  a  few  seconds  and 
then  ventured  hardily :  "  Miss  Stokes  is  expecting  a 
baby,  sir." 

"  You  mean  Mrs.  Watson,  Melissa.  Dear  me,  that 
is  good  news.  A  boy  or  a  girl?  God  bless  my  soul, 
what  a  silly  question !  You  see,  I'm  so  in  the  habit  of 
choosing  the  gender  in  advance  that  I  quite  forgot 
myself.  I  meant  to  inquire  when." 

"  They've  been  married  five  months,  sir,"  said  Me 
lissa. 

Two  weeks  before  Christmas,  Mrs.  Force  came  to 
the  bank  to  report  to  Mr.  Bingle  that  homes  were  in 
view  for  six  of  the  children,  in  fact  for  all  except 
Frederick,  Marie  Louise  and  Wilberforce.  It  ap 
pears  that  people  hesitate  about  taking  youngsters  as 
old  as  these  three,  and  as  steeped  in  vice  and  igno 
rance  as  naturally  might  be  expected  in  boys  and 
girls  of  that  age.  She  said,  however,  that  the  So 
ciety  was  making  a  point  of  telling  people  how  nicely 
and  how  advantageously  all  of  the  children  had  been 
reared  by  the  late  Mr.  Bingle.  She  smiled  when  she 
said  the  "  late  Mr.  Bingle,"  for  it  was  a  capital  joke 
and  she  had  every  intention  of  making  the  most  of 
it. 

It  was  proposed  that  the  applicants  should  meet 
Mr.  Bingle  and  the  children  at  the  offices  of  the  So- 


ANOTHER  CHRISTMAS  EVE         325 

ciety  on  the  Saturday  before  Christmas,  which  fell  on 
a  Thursday. 

Mr.  Bingle  obj  ected.  He  said  he  couldn't  think  of 
letting  them  go  before  Christmas.  These  people 
would  have  to  wait  until  after  Christmas  Eve,  and 
that  was  final.  President  Force,  coming  to  his  wife's 
rescue,  ironically  suggested  to  the  little  bookkeeper 
that  it  was  barely  possible  that  other  people  were  in 
the  habit  of  inflicting  children  with  "  The  Christmas 
Carol."  He  flushed,  however,  under  the  mild  stare 
with  which  Mr.  Bingle  favoured  him,  and  proceeded  to 
change  his  tune  with  considerable  alacrity.  A  happy 
thought  seemed  to  have  struck  him  with  some  sudden 
ness. 

"  By  Jove,  Bingle,  I  have  a  splendid  scheme. 
What  could  be  more  fitting  than  that  these  child- 
seekers  should  receive  just  what  they  want  on  Christ 
mas  morning?  That's  the  ticket,  my  dear,"  he  said, 
turning  to  his  wife.  "  Fix  it  so  that  a  child  is  de 
livered  bright  and  early  on  Christmas  morning  —  in 
its  own  stockings,  of  course  —  and  there  you  are !  A 
Merry  Christmas  for  everybody,  and  perhaps  a 
Happy  New  Year.  What  do  you  think  of  it, 
Bingle?" 

"Splendid!"  said  Mr.  Bingle.  "I  wish  I  could 
have  thought  of  that  when  I  was  in  the  business  my 
self.  It  would  have  been  great  to  have  a  new  baby 
every  Christmas  morning.  I  will  agree  to  that,  Mrs. 
Force,  provided  I  approve  of  the  people  I'm  supposed 
to  be  Santa  Claus  for." 


326  MR.  BINGLE 

On  the  Saturday  before  Christmas  he  went  to  die 
offices  of  the  Society  with  all  of  the  children,  for  the 
industrious  Mrs.  Force  had  produced  claimants  for 
the  three  older  ones,  and  when  he  took  the  brood  home 
to  supper  long  after  seven  o'clock  that  evening,  homes 
and  fresh  parents  were  assured  for  all  of  them.  To 
be  sure,  Frederick  and  Marie  Louise  objected  to  liv 
ing  on  upstate  farms,  and  Reginald  howled  bitterly 
over  being  promised  to  a  Jewish  family  in  West  End 
Avenue.  He  had  set  his  heart  on  being  brought  up 
as  an  Irishman.  Some  of  them  were  to  remain  in 
New  York  City,  one  was  to  go  to  Philadelphia  and 
another  to  Bridgeport.  Harold,  Rosemary  and 
Rutherford  were  to  undergo  a  complete  change  of 
name.  They  were  going  into  families  where  for  senti 
mental  reasons,  a  John,  a  Betty  and  a  Jeremiah  were 
wanted.  Guinivere  stood  in  grave  danger  of  being 
called  Prue,  after  somebody's  grandmother,  and 
Henrietta  was  to  be  shortened  to  Etta. 

It  was  understood  that  the  agents  from  the  So 
ciety  were  to  call  for  the  youngsters  on  Christmas 
Eve,  so  that  they  might  be  ready  for  delivery  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning.  The  Society  was  prepared  to 
attend  to  all  of  the  legal  requirements  incident  to  the 
transfer.  Mr.  Bingle  was  to  sign  what  he  quaintly 
called  a  "  blanket  affidavit,"  covering  the  entire  col 
lection,  and  that  was  to  be  the  end  of  the  Bingle 
regime. 

Christmas  Eve  came  at  last.  The  day  had  been 
bitterly  cold,  and  Mr.  Bingle  coming  in  from  his  final 


ANOTHER  CHRISTMAS  EVE         327 

walk  with  the  four  small  children,  who  had  been  taken 
out  to  see  the  lighted  shop  windows  before  the  last 
supper  they  were  to  have  together,  was  blue  in  the 
face  and  shivering  as  with  a  chill.  Melissa  caught 
him  in  the  act  of  removing  his  muffler  from  Rose 
mary's  neck.  He  had  already  taken  his  thin  over 
coat  from  Harold's  shoulders,  so  she  missed  that  part 
of  his  personal  sacrifice.  She  asked  with  considerable 
asperity  if  he  was  trying  to  get  pneumonia. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  struggling  to  keep  his 
teeth  from  chattering ;  "  I'm  not,  Melissa.  I'm  try 
ing  to  head  off  the  croup." 

"  You'll  probably  have  it  yourself  to-night." 

"  I  think  that  would  be  rather  jolly,"  he  said.  "  I 
haven't  had  it  since  I  was  the  size  of  Rosemary." 

She  thought  he  was  losing  his  mind,  and  told  Diggs 
so  when  he  came  in  at  six  o'clock  to  help  her  with  the 
feast  they  were  to  have. 

"  Get  away  from  that  stove,  Freddy,  and  you  too, 
Marie  Louise,"  she  commanded.  "  Can't  you  see 
your  daddy  is  shivering?  Hustle  now!  Don't  soak 
up  all  the  heat  in  the  room.  Let  him  stand  in  front 
of  the  fire,  you  little  — " 

"  Now,  now,  Melissa,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  reproach 
fully  ;  "  don't  blame  the  kiddies.  They're  cold  and 
: —  by  the  way,  is  there  no  steam  in  the  radiator?  " 

"  I  shut  off  the  measly  thing  awhile  ago,"  she  said. 
"  There  was  too  much  cold  air  coming  up  through  the 
pipes.  Honestly,  Mr.  Bingle,  if  you  happened  to 
stand  near  that  there  radiator  you'd  feel  a  draft." 


328  MR.  BINGLE 

The  children  were  dressed  in  their  Sunday  best, 
prepared  for  the  coming  exodus.  They  were  neat 
and  clean,  and  although  six  months  had  lengthened 
their  bodies  and  shortened  their  garments,  their 
patches  and  shreds  were  not  so  vindictive  that  they 
slapped  Mr.  JBingle's  pride  in  face,  if  the  metaphor  is 
permissible. 

"  I  hope,"  said  he,  with  his  thin  shoulders  close  to 
the  fire,  "  that  we  will  have  time  for  *  The  Christmas 
Carol '  before  they  —  the  r— "  his  voice  shook  a  lit 
tle  — "  before  the  gentlemen  come  for  you,  kidlets. 
Perhaps  if  we  were  to  hurry  supper  along  a  little  bit, 
Melissa,  we  could  manage  it." 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  that  thing  again,"  said 
Frederick  boldly.  He  appeared  to  be  the  leader  of  a 
movement  to  squash  "  The  Christmas  Carol." 

"  Neither  do  I,"  said  Marie  Louise  and  Wilber- 
force. 

"  I  want  to  hear  about  Tiny  Tim,"  piped  up  Rose 
mary,  almost  in  tears. 

"  Well,  you  haven't  heard  it  all  your  life  like  we 
have,"  said  Frederick,  scowling  at  the  little  one. 
"  You've  only  heard  it  twice." 

"  Dear  me,"  sighed  Mr.  Bingle,  in  evident  dis 
tress.  "  Don't  you  want  to  hear  *  The  Carol '  before 
you  say  good-bye  to  daddy  —  forever  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Frederick ;  "  and  I'll  bet  they  don't 
read  it  where  we're  going,  either." 

"  Perhaps  not,  Frederick,"  said  he  slowly,  turning 
a  rather  wistful  face  toward  Melissa,  who  had  come 


ANOTHER  CHRISTMAS  EVE         329 

in  with  a  pan  full  of  coals.  "  There  is  one  thing  I 
quite  forgot,  Melissa." 

"What's  that,  sir?" 

"  I  forgot  to  stipulate  that  the  (  Carol '  had  to  be 
read  on  Christmas  Eve  in  every  one  of  these  homes. 
Dear  me,  how  could  I  have  been  so  thoughtless." 

"  I  wouldn't  worry  about  that,  sir.  You're  giving 
these  people  enough  trouble  without  doing  that  to 
them.  And  as  for  you,  Master  Frederick,  you'll 
probably  find  that  instead  of  reading  the  6  Carol '  to 
you  they'll  take  you  out  in  the  woodshed  and  give  you 
a  touch  of  Dante's  Infernal  every  once  in  awhile." 

"  I'll  —  I'll  kill  'em  if  they  do,"  cried  Frederick 
loudly. 

"Frederick  the  Great!"  exclaimed  Melissa  with 
vast  scorn.  "  Here  now,  you  there,  get  to  work  and 
fetch  the  chairs  and  stools  in  from  the  bedrooms  and 
put  'em  up  to  the  table.  There's  a  couple  in  the 
kitchen,  Wilber.  Hustle  out  and  — " 

"  Don't  call  me  Wilber,"  snapped  Wilberforce. 
"  Haven't  I  always  told  you  I  hate  it  ?  Remember 
you're  only  a  servant.  Don't  you  go — " 

"  Tut,  tut !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Bingle,  moving  over  so 
that  Melissa  could  drop  the  coals  into  the  stove. 
"  Remember  you  are  only  a  gentleman,  Wilberforce." 

"  I'd  like  to  know  how  I  can  remember  it  in  a  place 
like  this,"  pouted  the  boy. 

"  It's  all  right,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said  Melissa  cheerily, 
"  I  don't  mind  being  called  a  servant.  It's  better 
than  '  hired  girl.'  " 


330  MR.  SINGLE 

There  was  a  pathetic  attempt  at  seasonable  illumi 
nation  and  decoration  in  the  crowded  living-room, 
sprigs  of  holly,  some  tapers  and  tinsel,  cotton  snow 
balls  and  popcorn  strands  being  in  the  least  congested 
corners,  and  the  table  had  ten  candles  standing  in  two 
sedate  rows.  These  were  not  to  be  lighted  until  just 
before  soup  was  served,  and  each  participant  at  the 
board  was  to  light  his  or  her  candle  from  the  taper 
supplied  by  Melissa. 

Over  in  one  corner  of  the  room  reposed  a  small  pile 
of  packages,  each  neatly  tied  up  with  red  ribbon. 
These  represented  the  gifts  of  Mr.  Bingle  and  Melissa 
to  the  palpably  indifferent  youngsters.  Two  bottles 
of  milk  stood  on  the  radiator,  which,  according  to 
Melissa,  was  infinitely  colder  than  the  ice  box  in  the 
pantry.  Incidentally,  it  is  worth  while  to  mention 
that  in  one  of  the  bedrooms  there  were  nine  com 
pactly  wrapped  bundles,  each  marked  by  a  name,  but 
not  tied  up  in  red  ribbon.  They  contained  the  few 
belongings  of  the  nine  children,  and  they  were  all 
ready  for  the  coming  of  the  Society's  agents.  Dur 
ing  the  day  Mrs.  Force  had  sent  her  automobile  and  a 
footman  to  remove  the  toys  and  treasures  left  over 
from  the  reign  of  plenty,  taking  them  to  headquarters 
for  future  distribution  among  their  owners.  This 
was  done  while  Mr.  Bingle  was  at  the  bank.  He  could 
not  have  endured  this  part  of  the  business. 

The  Christmas  Carol  lay  on  the  mantelpiece  be 
hind  the  stove,  with  Mr.  Bingle's  reading  glasses,  both 
ready  for  use. 


ANOTHER  CHRISTMAS  EVE         331 

At  six-thirty  Mr.  Diggs  appeared,  laden  with 
bundles,  and  at  his  heels  was  Watson,  carrying  a 
tremendous  basket.  They  were  clad  in  huge  fur  over 
coats,  their  faces  were  red  from  the  cold,  and  their 
voices  were  vastly  cheerful. 

"  Merry  Christmas,  sir,"  said  Diggs,  and  "  Merry 
Christmas,  sir,"  said  Watson. 

"  I've  taken  the  liberty,  sir  —  I  mean  to  say,  Wat 
son  and  I  'ave,  sir  —  of  fetching  with  us  a  thump 
ing  big  Christmas  dinner  for  you,  seeing  as  you  will 
be  quite  alone  and  —  er  —  you  might  say  at  peace 
again,  sir.  Melissa,  my  dear,  you  will  find  hall  the 
delicacies  of  the  season  in  these  'ere  parcels,  and  I 
defy  hanybody  to  show  a  finer  turkey  than  is  in  that 
basket.  Wot  say,  Watson?  " 

"  Fit  to  set  before  the  King,"  said  Watson  with 
great  pride  in  his  voice. 

"  Wherefore  I  say  *  Long  Live  the  King,'  "  said 
Diggs,  bowing  elaborately  before  Mr.  Bingle,  whose 
eyes  were  shining  as  he  went  forward  to  shake  hands 
with  his  old  servants. 

"  God  bless  my  soul,  I  —  I  —  I  thank  you,  gentle 
men,"  he  murmured.  "  But,  I  say,  wouldn't  it  be  bet 
ter  to  serve  some  of  these  things  to-night,  before  the 
children  go  away  ?  What  dif  — " 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  shouted  the  children. 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said  Diggs 
firmly,  "  but  it  is  not  to  be  thought  of,  sir.  This 
dinner  is  for  you,  and  not  a  morsel  is  to  be  served 
until  to-morrow  noon.  These  'ere  kids  will  'ave  their 


332  MR.  BINGLE 

little  stomachs  crammed  full  all  day  to-morrow  and 
we  hinsists  that  yours  won't  be  if  we  don't  keep  a 
pretty  firm  hand  on  you  to-night,  sir.  Take  the 
things  out  in  the  kitchen,  Watson,  and  —  and  'ide  'em 
safe." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  helplessly.  "  I  don't 
know  what  to  say,  Diggs.  What  would  you  say, 
Reginald,  if  any  one  was  as  nice  to  you  as  Mr.  Diggs 
and  Mr.  Watson  are  to  me?  " 

"  I'd  say  open  'em  up  to-night  and  not  be  stingy," 
said  Reginald,  following  Watson  with  greedy  eyes. 

Melissa  glared  at  him.  "  Just  for  that  I  ought  to 
hold  back  your  share  of  the  chicken  dumplings,  young 
man ! "  Then  she  got  quite  red  in  the  face.  Mr. 
Bingle  was  looking  at  her  in  amazement. 

"  Chicken  dumplings  ?  "  he  murmured. 

"  Well,  you  see,  sir,"  said  Melissa,  "  I  thought  as 
how  it  wouldn't  matter  to  you  if  I  went  out  on  my  own 
hook  and  got  a  few  things  for  a  Christmas  Eve  din 
ner  —  just  a  couple  of  nice  fat  hens,  and  some  as 
paragus,  and  parsley,  and  sweet  potatoes,  and  —  well, 
just  a  few  little  things  like  that.  Thinks  I,  we  can't 
afford  to  let  these  children  go  away  without  a 
bang-up  meal  in  their  little  insides,  so's  nobody  could 
think  they  was  ever  hungry  in  their  lives,  and  so  this 
morning  I  just  stepped  out  and  —  oh,  yes,  I  forgot, 
sir,  I  did  get  a  few  hot  house  grapes  and  one  or  two 
other  trifles,  just  to  make  it  seem  real,  not  to  mention 
some  celery  and  olives  and  fruitcakes." 

"  Quite  the  thing,  Melissa,"  said  Diggs  approv- 


ANOTHER  CHRISTMAS  EVE         333 

inglj.  "  Quite  the  thing,  my  dear.  And  did  the  men 
deliver  the  ham  and  firewood  I  —  ahem!  I  beg 
pardon ! " 

"  Are  we  to  have  firewood  for  dinner  to-night, 
Diggs  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Bingle,  his  voice  trembling  a 
little  despite  his  good-natured  smile. 

"  Oh,  you  stupid,  blundering  English,"  cried  Me 
lissa  in  a  voice  that  shrivelled  Diggs. 

"  That's  it,  sir,  I  am  a  stupid,  blundering  English 
man  right  enough.  Blooming  fool,  sir,  if  you  please. 
I  didn't  hintend  to  mention  anythink  but  the  ham. 
The  confounded  firewood  slipped  in,  sir.  'Owever,  I 
trust  you'll  overlook  it,  sir." 

"  I'm  not  overlooking  firewood  in  this  weather, 
Diggs,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  drily.  "  Won't  you  sit 
down  ?  Excuse  me  for  not  — " 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,  thank  you.  I  'ave  my  duties  to  per 
form.  Really,  sir,  I — " 

"  Go  out  into  the  kitchen,  Mr.  Diggs,"  commanded 
Melissa  sharply.  "  God  gave  you  a  tongue,  but  he 
didn't  give  you  anything  to  hold  it  with." 

"  Quite  so,  quite  so,"  agreed  the  flustered  Mr. 
Diggs,  edging  toward  the  kitchen  whence  through  the 
open  door  came  sounds  of  rattling  pans  and  the  pene 
trating  but  comforting  scent  of  stewed  chicken. 

"  It  is  good  of  you  and  Watson  to  come  down  this 
evening,  Diggs,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  speaking  with  diffi 
culty.  "  This  must  be  the  busiest  night  of  the  year 
for  you.  How  could  you  afford  to  get  away  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Diggs,  after  looking  to  Melissa 


334  MR.  BINGLE 

for  approval  or  inspiration,  "  we  decided  as  how 
Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year,  and  as  the  boys  in 
the  shop  can  manage  very  nicely  without  us  for  a 
couple  of  hours,  we  says  to  ourselves  we  would  come 
down  and  'ear  the  '  Christmas  Carol '  if  you  don't 
mind,  sir,  for  old  times'  sake.  Miss  Stokes  —  I  mean 
to  say,  Mrs.  Watson,  will  be  along  presently,  sir. 
She  stopped  for  a  spell,  to  relieve  the  cashier  while 
she  went  to  supper.  And  — " 

"  That's  enough,  Mr.  Diggs,"  interrupted  Melissa. 
"  You'll  spoil  it  if  you  go  on." 

"Oh,  I  say,  Melissa— " 

"  Out  to  the  kitchen  with  you,  and  get  out  of  that 
fur  coat.  You  are  perspiring  like  everything." 

Mr.  Bingle  called  Diggs  back  just  as  he  was  on  the 
point  of  disappearing  through  the  door. 

"  By  the  way,  Diggs,"  he  said,  smiling  broadly, 
66  have  you  heard  the  news  ?  " 

"  The  news,  sir?     Is  —  is  Mrs.  Bingle  — " 

"Sh!"  hissed  Melissa. 

"  The  news  about  Melissa.  She  is  going  to  be  mar 
ried  in  this  very  room  two  weeks  from  to-night,  Diggs. 
How  is  that  for  news  ?  " 

"Married?     Good  God,  sir!"  gasped  Diggs. 

"  Married  to  you,  Diggs,  and  I  am  going  to  give 
the  bride  away !  " 

"  Oh,  pshaw,  Mr.  Bingle !  "  cried  Melissa,  covering 
her  flaming  face  with  her  apron. 

"  Do  —  do  you  mean  it,  Mr.  Bingle?  "  cried  Diggs, 
with  beaming  eyes. 


ANOTHER  CHRISTMAS  EVE          335 

"  I  do.  I'm  getting  tired  of  seeing  you  two 
around,  so  I'm  going  to  make  you  get  married.  Now, 
don't  say  you'll  refuse,  Diggs,  for  — " 

"  Refuse !     God  bless  you,  sir  —  I  — " 

"  You  see,"  went  on  Mr.  Bingle,  coming  to  the  poor 
fellow's  relief,  "  I  have  a  notion  that  Mrs.  Bingle  will 
be  home  by  that  time,  and  —  and  we'll  get  along  very 
cosily  here  in  —  but,  run  along,  Melissa!  Bring  in 
the  feast!  Hey,  children?  " 

The  children  shouted  vociferously,  and  Reginald, 
pursuing  Melissa  to  the  door,  implored  her  to  take 
back  what  she  had  said  about  the  dumplings.  To  his 
surprise,  Melissa  kissed  him. 

Later  on,  Diggs  returned  from  the  kitchen  and  ap 
proached  Mr.  Bingle,  who  was  sitting  beside  the 
stove  with  his  back  to  the  door,  holding  Rosemary 
and  Rutherford  on  his  knees. 

"  Dinner  is  served,  sir,"  said  Diggs  in  his  most 
formal,  dignified  manner. 

Mr.  Bingle  looked  up,  surprised  by  a  voice  that 
came  resounding  down  from  the  past.  The  children 
were  already  staring  open-mouthed  at  Diggs,  who 
stood  attired  in  his  well-remembered  dress-suit,  the 
imposing,  self-contained  figure  of  a  butler  of  the  most 
approved  type. 

"  God  bless  my  soul,"  gasped  Mr.  Bingle. 

"  Quite  so,  sir,"  said  Diggs  smoothly.  He  drew 
out  Mr.  Bingle's  chair,  and  the  little  man,  completely 
dazed,  sank  abruptly  into  it.  The  children  found 
their  places,  chattering  like  magpies. 


336  MR.  BINGLE 

"  Lest  they  forget,"  said  Diggs,  leaning  over  to 
speak  softly  in  Mr.  Bingle's  ear. 

Then  came  Watson,  in  braid  and  buttons,  stiff  as  a 
ramrod,  chin  high  in  the  air,  and  as  supercilious  as 
any  footman  in  all  the  world,  carrying  the  soup. 
[After  a  long,  dry-eyed  stare  at  the  familiar  figure 
that  had  always  seemed  so  unreal  to  him  in  the  days 
when  everything  belonged  to  fairyland,  Mr.  Bingle 
dropped  his  eyes  and  began  fumbling  blindly  for  the 
bone-handled  fork  at  his  plate. 

He  heard  Frederick  cry  out:  "I  don't  want  to 
go  away  now,  Daddy!  Hurray!  We've  got  Diggs 
and  Watson  back !  "  And  then  came  the  eager  cries 
of  many  other  voices,  all  of  one  accord.  They 
wanted  to  stay!  He  suddenly  knew  why. 

Tears  were  streaming  down  his  cheeks.  Through 
the  mist  that  covered  his  eyes,  he  saw  the  champagne 
glass  that  stood  alone  beside  his  plate. 


4*Lest   they  forget,"  said  Diggs,  leaning  over  to 

nftlv    in    A1Y      "Ri'nrvlo'c    OOT 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    LAST    TO    ARRIVE 

MR.  BINGLE  was  an  optimist.  It  seems  hardly 
necessary  to  make  this  statement,  but  for  the  pur 
pose  of  giving  him  a  fair  start  along  a  new  line  of 
endeavour  we  resort  to  the  distinctly  obvious,  and 
then  announce  that  he  brushed  away  the  tears  and 
laughed  as  gaily  as  any  of  them  over  the  surprises 
that  followed  the  one  which  momentarily  caused  him 
to  falter.  He  was  not  given  to  looking  upon  the  dark 
side  of  things.  Even  as  he  sat  there  at  the  head  of 
the  long  table,  he  jocosely  remarked  to  Diggs  that 
he  would  have  to  borrow  a  saw  from  the  janitor  the 
next  day  and  reduce  the  size  of  his  board  by  five  feet 
at  least.  Moreover,  he  could  practice  a  little  econ 
omy  by  cutting  the  excess  timber  up  into  kindling 
wood,  and  no  doubt  something  could  be  saved  by  put 
ting  the  over  supply  of  china  and  glassware  on  the 
top  shelves  of  the  pantry  where  it  would  be  safe  from 
demolition  unless  the  house  took  fire  or  an  earthquake 
came  along.  Also  a  great  deal  more  room  could  be 
obtained  in  the  flat  by  making  firewood  of  the  extra 
chairs,  to  say  nothing  of  the  prospect  of  making  a 
library  and  conservatory  out  of  the  bedroom  to  be 
vacated  by  the  boys. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Diggs,  this  flat  isn't  so  bad 
337 


338  MR.  BINGLE 

as  might  appear,  and  the  location  is  excellent.  Quite 
handy  for  the  Elevated,  and  not  far  from  the  river  in 
case  one  wants  to  take  a  sail  in  pleasant  weather. 
The  view  from  the  kitchen  windows  is  capital.  You 
could  see  East  River  quite  plainly  if  it  were  not  for 
the  buildings.  My  idea  is  to  put  some  plants  in  the 
room  over  there  —  the  conservatory,  I  mean  —  and 
I  expect  to  get  a  dog  later  on.  Mrs.  Bingle  is  very 
fond  of  dogs.  See  that  window  over  there?  Well, 
by  sticking  your  head  out  of  it  a  little  way  you  can 
see  clear  to  heaven." 

"  That  window,  sir?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  that  very  one." 

"  Why,  it  opens  into  the  airshaft,  sir." 

"  To  be  sure  it  does.  You  have  to  look  straight 
upward,  of  course,  if  you  want  to  see  heaven,  you 
know.  And  speaking  of  the  airshaft,  I  am  reminded 
that  it  is  really  quite  a  picturesque  one  at  times. 
The  windows  across  the  way  are  sometimes  very  in 
teresting,  provided  the  shades  are  up.  Usually,  how 
ever,  when  the  shades  over  yonder  are  up,  I  see  to  it 
that  ours  are  down." 

"  May  I  fill  your  glass  again,  sir  ?  " 

"Is  it  empty?" 

"  Quite,  sir." 

"  If  you  don't  mind,  Diggs,  I  think  I  shall  save  the 
rest  of  the  wine  until  after  the  children  have  gone," 
said  Mr.  Bingle,  slowly. 

Diggs  reflected.  "  Very  good,  sir.  A  splendid 
idea,  sir." 


THE  LAST  TO  ARRIVE  339 

"  And  then  I  shall  ask  you  and  Watson  and  Melissa 
and  Mrs.  Watson  to  drink  with  me  to  Mrs.  Bingle." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

"  It  does  my  heart  good  to  see  the  way  these  young 
rascals  eat,  Diggs.  They  haven't  had  a  dinner  like 
this  in  a  long  time.  Have  a  little  more  chicken,  Wil- 
berforce  —  and  some  brussels  sprouts.  And  how 
about  you,  Rutherford?  Anything  more?  " 

"  I'll  have  some  more  soup,  daddy,"  said  Ruther 
ford  from  his  high  chair.  He  was  just  ending  the 
third  course. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Bingle. 

Melissa  had  come  in  to  see  that  everything  was 
going  along  in  proper  order.  She  looked  hard  at 
Mr.  Bingle's  plate  and  then  at  the  gentleman  himself. 
He  met  her  reproachful  gaze  with  one  of  mild 
apology. 

"  I'm  saving  my  appetite  for  to-morrow,  Melissa," 
he  explained. 

"  You're  not  eating  a  thing,"  said  Melissa  sternly. 
"  Mr.  Diggs,  what  kind  of  a  lummix  are  you?  Can't 
you  see  that  he's  stinting  himself  so's  them  — " 

"  Now,  Melissa,"  implored  Mr.  Bingle,  "  don't  say 
anything  on  Christmas  Eve  that  you'll  be  sorry  for 
afterwards.  It's  all  right,  I  assure  you.  I'm  not 
very  hungry  and  — " 

"  But  there's  more  than  enough  to  go  'round," 
burst  out  Melissa  wrathfully.  u  There's  no  sense  in 
your  acting  like  this,  Mr.  Bingle." 

"Sh!" 


340  MR.  BINGLE 

"  Watson,  give  him  some  more  of  that  chicken  — 
the  white  meat,  do  you  understand  ?  And  where's  the 
dressing?  Mr.  Diggs,  get  those  rolls  over  here  — 
lively !  Did  he  have  any  soup  and  fish  ?  Did  he  — " 

"  Melissa,  what  are  you  trying  to  do  ?  "  demanded 
Mr.  Bingle.  "  Stuff  me  so  full  I'll  die  in  the  night  ?  " 

"  And  him  lookin'  that  thin  and  pale  and  peaked," 
went  on  Melissa,  glaring  at  the  unhappy  butler  and 
footman.  "  What  have  you  got  them  buttons  and 
that  striped  vest  for,  Watson?  Are  you  here  as  a 
spectator?  Get  a  move  on  now,  both  of  you.  And 
as  for  you,  Mr.  Bingle,  I'm  going  to  stand  right  here 
and  see  that  you  eat.  Do  you  suppose  I  got  up  this 
meal  for  a  joke  on  myself?  Not  much !  The  mashed 
potatoes,  Watson!  Never  mind,  Freddy,  you  can 
have  some  more  after  your  daddy's  had  all  he  wants. 
Gee  whiz,  I'm  glad  I  happened  to  come  in  when  I 
did!" 

Presently  the  door-bell  rang  —  a  feeble,  broken 
tinkle  reminiscent  of  an  original  economy  —  and  Mr. 
Bingle  laid  down  his  salad  fork  with  a  sigh.  The 
children  started  violently  and  a  scared,  uneasy  look 
went  around  the  table. 

"  The  Society's  agents,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  closing 
his  lips  tightly  to  prevent  their  trembling. 
"  Freddy,  will  you  please  go  to  the  door?  " 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  Watson,  almost  reproach 
fully  despite  his  lordly  air.  Then,  with  stately 
tread,  he  passed  into  the  little  hallway  and  threw  open 
the  outer  door. 


THE  LAST  TO  ARRIVE  341 

"  I  don't  want  to  go,"  Henrietta  was  crying,  and 
even  Frederic  looked  intently  at  his  plate  with  eyes 
that  were  preparing  to  fill.  The  rest  of  them  were 
ready  to  whimper.  After  all,  a  bountiful  meal  and  a 
full  stomach  go  a  long  way  toward  producing  a  re 
action.  They  were  not  so  keen  to  leave  Mr.  Bingle  as 
they  were  before  the  meal  began. 

"  Mrs.  Flanders !  Mr.  Flanders !  "  announced  the 
high-chinned  Watson. 

First  of  all,  the  new  arrivals  paused  to  stare  in 
astonishment  at  the  liveried  footman,  and  then  for  an 
instant  at  the  imperious  Diggs,  after  which  they 
turned  their  gaze  upon  the  table. 

"Great  Scott!"  gasped  Flanders.  "Is  this  a 
dream  ?  " 

"  Not  on  your  life,"  said  Watson,  completely  for 
getting  himself  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 

There  was  a  tremendous  hub-bub,  during  which 
Diggs  and  Watson  had  a  great  deal  of  difficulty  in 
keeping  their  places  as  old  and  well-trained  serv 
ants.  They  were  frequently  on  the  verge  of  becom 
ing  prosperous  green-grocers  and  joining  in  the  jolli 
fication. 

First,  the  gorgeous  Miss  Colgate  kissed  Mr.  Bingle, 
almost  smothering  the  poor  gentleman  in  the  wealth 
of  furs  which  enveloped  and  adorned  her.  Then  she 
kissed  nine  smart  little  cheeks  in  rapid  succession,  all 
the  while  crying  "  Merry  Christmas "  and  "  bless 
your  heart,"  in  chorus  with  every  one  else  and  her 
cheery-voiced  husband. 


MR.  BINGLE 

"  Just  had  to  run  down,  Mr.  Bingle,"  Flanders  was 
shouting  as  he  pumped  the  little  man's  arm  violently 
up  and  down.  "  A  year  ago  to-night  it  all  happened, 
you  remember.  Celebrating  the  greatest  of  all  anni 
versaries.  How  are  you  ?  Couldn't  let  this  night  go 
by  without  seeing  you,  sir  —  couldn't  possibly. 
Can't  stay  but  a  minute,  though.  Due  at  the  theatre 
at  half-past  seven.  Amy  goes  on  early  in  the  first, 
you  know  —  of  course,  you  know,  having  ordered  her 
on  when  I  had  her  entering  when  the  act  was  half  over. 
How  are  you  ?  " 

"  Fine !  Fine ! "  gasped  Mr.  Bingle,  almost 
speechless. 

"  And  now,"  cried  Amy  Colgate,  throwing  open  her 
fur  coat,  revealing  a  dazzling  gown  of  black  and 
silver,  "  now  for  the  fun !  Mr.  Footman,  will  you 
admit  the  messengers  from  Humpty  Dumpty  land?  " 

In  came  four  sprightly  clowns,  chalked  and 
patched,  clad  in  spots  and  spangles,  dancing  like  mad 
and  grinning  from  ear  to  ear.  Whirling  around  the 
table,  dodging  the  stove,  vaulting  the  empty  chairs, 
they  stopped  at  last  to  deposit  in  a  heap  upon  the 
floor  a  whopping  pile  of  parcels  and  bundles,  the 
topmost  being  a  huge  box  of  American  Beauty  roses. 
Almost  before  the  wide-eyed,  gaping  youngsters  could 
realise  what  had  happened,  the  motley  quartette  van 
ished  into  the  outer  hall,  the  door  banged  to  behind 
them  and  Mr.  Flanders  was  shouting: 

"How's  that  for  high?  Eh?  That's  the  way 
we  do  things  up  at  Forty-second  Street.  What  have 


THE  LAST  TO  ARRIVE  343 

you  got  to  say  now,  Mr.  Single,  on  this  Merry  Christ 
mas  Eve?" 

Mr.  Bingle,  quite  as  excited  as  any  of  the  shouting 
children,  sat  down  very  suddenly  in  his  chair  at  the 
head  of  the  table. 

"  Sit  down,  Dick,  and  you,  Amy,  and  —  and  have 
something  to  eat.  I  —  I  — "  He  stopped  short, 
realising  that  he  did  not  know  what  he  was  saying, 
but  vaguely  hospitable  in  spite  of  himself.  Then  his 
arm  went  up  to  cover  his  eyes. 

"  We  haven't  time,"  began  Flanders,  but  caught  a 
warning  look  from  his  pretty  wife. 

"  We  will  have  dessert  and  coffee  with  you,  Mr. 
Bingle,"  she  said,  coming  over  to  lay  her  hand  upon 
his  arm. 

"Tha  —  that's  fine,"  gulped  Mr.  Bingle  with  a 
mighty  and  partially  successful  effort  to  regain  con 
trol  of  his  flitting  senses.  And  it  was  some  time  after 
that  before  he  could  trust  himself  to  join  in  the 
merry,  excited  chatter.  He  kept  on  repeating  "  God 
bless  my  soul,"  in  response  to  nearly  every  remark 
that  was  directed  to  him. 

"  You  are  not  to  open  a  single  package  until  after 
we  are  gone,"  commanded  Amy  Colgate  later  on,  con 
fronting  the  eager,  covetous  children  as  she  arose 
from  the  trunk  which  served  as  a  chair  for  both  her 
self  and  Mr.  Bingle  in  Diggs's  hasty  readjustment  of 
the  seats  at  table.  "The  roses  are  for  you,  dear 
Mr.  Bingle,  with  my  love  —  my  real  love.  I  know 
that  you  will  take  them  to 'Mrs.  Bingle  to-morrow, 


344  MR.  SINGLE 

but  they  are  for  you  to-night.  Give  her  my  love  and 
wish  her  a  Merry,  Merry  Christmas  from  Dick  and 
me.  Please  God  she  may  soon  come  back  to  you  and 
be  as  she  used  to  be."  She  peered  intently,  question- 
ingly  into  his  glistening  eyes,  and  then  put  her  arm 
suddenly  around  his  neck  and  cried  softly  in  his  ear : 
"  Oh,  you  dear,  dear  old  goose !  " 

"  Where  is  Melissa?  "  whispered  Flanders  to  Diggs 
as  that  functionary  was  helping  him  into  his  great 
coat. 

"  Almost  on  your  very  'eels,  sir,"  said  Diggs,  as 
nervous  as  any  one  else. 

"  I  say,  Melissa,"  said  Flanders,  turning  upon 
the  beaming  hand-maiden,  who  stood  in  the  kitchen 
door  with  Watson's  wife,  "  let  me  have  a  look  at  your 
kitchen."  He  fairly  pushed  his  way  into  the  kitchen, 
dragging  her  after  him.  "  Hush !  Don't  interrupt 
me,  my  girl.  He  may  suspect  something  and  come 
hustling  out  here  after  us.  Now,  Melissa,  I  trust 
you  as  I  would  trust  the  Government  of  the  United 
States.  You  are  as  honest  as  the  sun,  so  I'm  taking 
no  chances  in  handing  you  this  little  package  to  be 
delivered  to  Mr.  Bingle  when  he  sits  down  to  his 
lonely  breakfast  on  Christmas  morning.  The  kids 
will  be  all  gone  and  he'll  —  well,  he'll  need  something 
to  brace  him  up  a  bit.  Now,  pay  attention:  this 
is  a  copy  of  the  first  edition  of  '  The  Christmas  Carol,' 
and  stuck  between  the  leaves  is  something  that 
would  cause  this  flat  to  be  robbed  to-night  if  the  news 
got  down  to  the  Bowery.  Are  you  listening?  " 


THE  LAST  TO  ARRIVE  345 

"I  —  I  am,  sir,"  gasped  Melissa,  gripping  the 
small  package  tightly  and  shooting  a  look  of  appre 
hension  at  the  kitchen  window  as  if  expecting  to  see 
a  thief  pop  into  the  fifth  story  window. 

"  Well,  there  is  a  thousand  dollar  bill  concealed  in 
that  book.  Don't  drop  it !  It  won't  bite  you. 
Put  it  under  your  pillow  to-night,  and  be  sure  he 
gets  it  for  breakfast.  The  little  note  will  explain 
everything." 

"  Goodness,  Mr.  Flanders,  it's  a  dreadful  thing  to 
have  in  bed  with  a  person.  I  won't  sleep  a  wink." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  Flanders  cheerfully. 
"  Now,  you'll  not  forget  to  have  it  at  his  place  in 
the  morning,  will  you  ?  " 

"  If  I  live  through  the  night,  sir,  it  will  be  served 
with  his  coffee.  I  shan't  even  tell  Mr.  Diggs."  She 
did  not  mean  this  as  a  reflection  upon  the  integrity 
of  her  suitor,  but,  fearing  that  it  might  be  taken  as 
such,  she  made  haste  to  add :  "  So  if  I'm  found  mur 
dered  in  my  bed,  you  needn't  accuse  him  of  doing  it." 

In  the  meantime,  Amy  Colgate  had  kissed  all  of 
the  children  again  and  was  standing  guard  over  the 
heap  of  presents,  talking  so  gaily  and  so  incessantly 
that,  despite  Mr.  Bingle's  glances  in  the  direction 
of  the  kitchen,  he  was  unable  to  satisfy  his  curiosity. 

"  You  really  are  quite  cosy  here,  Mr.  Bingle,"  she 
was  saying.  "  Have  you  anything  new  to  show 
me?" 

He  pondered.  "  I  think  there's  a  new  hole  in  the 
carpet  over  there,  Mrs.  Flanders.  And  I've  taken 


346  MR.  BINGLE 

a  new  lease  on  life.  Dr.  Fiddler  dropped  in  at  the 
bank  yesterday  to  tell  me  that  Mrs.  Bingle  may  be 
able  to  come  home  before  long,  so  you  see  I  shall  have 
to  get  busy  fixing  the  place  up  a  bit.  She  likes  to 
have  everything  neat  and  tidy,  you  know." 

"  Is  she  still  with  her  mother?  " 

"  Certainly.  Fiddler  says  she  may  have  to  go  to 
the  hospital  for  a  while  before  coming  here,  but  it's 
nothing  to  be  worried  about.  A  trifling  operation, 
he  says.  He's  like  all  doctors.  You  never  can  get 
'em  to  commit  themselves.  I  shall  go  up  to  see  her 
to-morrow.  I've  got  a  little  present  for  her,  you 
know.  I've  sort  of  been  expecting  something  from 
her  to-night  —  a  pair  of  slippers  or  a  half  dozen 
handkerchiefs  or  something  like  that  —  but  perhaps 
they  will  come  in  the  morning.  She  never  forgets  me. 
Of  course,  being  sick  and  discouraged  may  have  kept 
her  from  —  and  then  again,  on  the  other  hand,  she 
may  have  crochetted  me  a  dressing  gown  or  a  fancy 
waistcoat  and  prefers  to  give  it  to  me  when  I  go 
out  to  see  her  to-morrow,  not  wanting  to  trust  it  to 
the  Express  Company,  don't  you  know.  Well,  Dick, 
how  do  you  like  our  kitchen?  " 

"  Bully !  Come  along,  Amy.  We  mustn't  be  late. 
See  you  soon,  Mr.  Bingle.  You  must  bring  Mrs. 
Bingle  up  to  see  the  piece  as  soon  as  she's  able.  By 
George,  we  are  doing  business,  though.  Sixteen 
thousand  dollars  last  week.  Turning  'em  away 
every  night.  Seventeen  hundred  dollars  last  night 
and—" 


THE  LAST  TO  ARRIVE  347 

"  Hush,  Dick  I  Mr.  Bingle  knows  you  are  an  au 
thor.  You  don't  have  to  act  the  part,  you  know." 

"  Right  you  are.  It's  getting  to  be  a  habit.  I 
can't  help  contrasting  this  Christmas  Eve  with  the 
one  a  year  ago.  I  didn't  have  ten  dollars  to  my  name 
when  I  went  out  to  hear  you  read  6  The  Christmas 
Carol,'  Mr.  Bingle." 

"  And  now  I  haven't  ten  dollars  to  my  name," 
said  Mr.  Bingle  cheerily.  "  Luck  is  like  the  sun, 
Dick.  It  doesn't  stay  up  all  the  time.  Sometimes  I 
look  back  upon  the  past  ten  years  and  wonder  if  they 
don't  belong  to  the  fellow  who  wrote  the  '  Arabian 
Nights  '  and  not  to  me.  They  were  not  real,  not  a 
bit  of  it.  And  yet  I  can't  remember  ever  having 
found  a  queer  old  jar  at  the  seashore,  nor  having  re 
leased  a  good  geni  from  its  smoky  insides.  So  I  sup 
pose  I  really  must  have  lived  them." 

"  Don't  let  yourself  get  lonely,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said 
Flanders,  gripping  the  other's  hand.  "  Don't  allow 
yourself  to  mope  over  the  loss  of  these  —  ahem ! 
They  will  all  have  nice,  happy  homes  and  grow  up 
to  be  splendid  — " 

"  Come  on,  Dick,"  called  his  wife  from  the  little 
hall,  where  she  was  surrounded  by  a  suddenly  re 
pressed  group  of  children.  She  had  been  whisper 
ing  something  to  them,  and  they  were  ashamed. 

The  door-bell  gave  forth  its  stuttering  tinkle  once 
more,  and  again  the  impassive  Watson  stalked  to 
the  entry.  The  next  instant  a  white-furred  figure 
bounded  through  the  door,  rushed  across  the  room 


348  MR.  BINGLE 

and  precipitated  itself  forcibly  into  the  arms  of  Mr. 
Bingle,  who  barely  had  time  to  prepare  himself  for 
the  onslaught. 

It  was  Kathleen.  Behind  her  stalked  the  elegant 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sydney  Force. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  Mrs.  Force  scarcely 
deigned  to  notice  Miss  Amy  Fairweather.  But  there 
is  a  great  difference  between  a  poor  governess  and  a 
popular  goddess.  The  bright  and  shining  star  of 
Broadway,  with  a  suite  of  rooms  at  the  Plaza,  a 
fascinating  and  much-courted  husband,  and  a  firm 
grasp  on  the  shifting  attention  of  the  idle  rich,  was 
a  person  to  be  recognised  even  by  the  charitably  in 
clined.  And  so  Mrs.  Force  neglected  to  employ  her 
lorgnon  in  scrutinising  Miss  Colgate,  and  made  the 
most  of  an  opportunity  to  release  a  long-suppressed 
effusiveness. 

Later  on,  in  a  moment  of  quiet  obtained  by  a 
somewhat  imperative  command  to  the  noisy  children, 
she  announced  to  Mr.  Bingle  that  she  must  be  run 
ning  along  to  a  dinner  and  the  opera,  and  that  she 
hoped  he  would  have  everything  ready  when  the 
agents  for  the  Society  called  at  half-past  eight,  so 
that  there  would  be  no  delay  in  getting  the  young 
sters  off  in  a  specially  chartered  Fifth  Avenue  stage. 
Then  she  turned  sweetly  to  Miss  Amy  Colgate  and 
said: 

"  May  I  take  you  up  town  in  my  car,  Mrs.  Flan 
ders?" 

Mrs.    Flanders    replied    just    as    sweetly.     "  No, 


THE  LAST  TO  ARRIVE  349 

thank  you,  Mrs.  Force.     Our  own  limousine  is  wait- 
ing."   ' 

"  We've  come  to  hear  the  '  Christmas  Carol,'  Bin- 
gle,"  said  Mr.  Force  after  his  wife  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Flanders  had  gone.  "  Kathleen  and  I  expect 
to  come  to  see  you  on  every  Christmas  Eve,  if  you'll 
have  us.  You've  got  us  on  your  hands,  old  man, 
and  you  can't  shake  us  off." 

"  God  bless  my  soul,"  said  Mr.  Bingle,  visibly 
moved.  "  I  remember  that  you  did  use  it  as  an 
argument  when  you  took  Kathleen  away  from  me. 
Still,  I  bear  it  no  grudge." 

"I  love  the  'Christmas  Carol,'  Daddy,"  cried 
Kathleen,  snuggling  close  to  him. 

"  Sh !     You  must  not  call  me  Daddy  now,  dear." 
"  I  shall !     You'll  always  be  my  daddy." 
"  And  how  about  — "  he  pointed  to  Mr.  Force. 
"Oh,"  she  said  easily,  "I  call  him  father." 
Then  came  the  distribution  of  presents.     A  foot 
man  brought  up  numerous  gifts  from  the  rich  Kath 
leen   to   her   one   time   foster   brothers   and   sisters. 
They  had  nothing  to  give  to  her  in  return,  and  Mr. 
Bingle  afterwards  said  that  it  was  greatly  to  their 
credit  that  they  were  able  to  look  at  him  with  an 
accusation  in  their  eyes,  for,  said  he,  it  went  to  prove 
that  they  were  mortified  over  not  being  in  a  position 
to  observe  the  old  rule  about  giving  and  receiving. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  several  of  them  tried  to  transfer 
to  Kathleen  the  simple,  inexpensive  presents  he  had 
just  given  to  them  out  of  his  own  humble  pile,  all 


350  MR.  BINGLE 

of  which,  he  argued,  went  far  toward  establishing 
his  point,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  they  mani 
festly  despised  the  very  things  they  were  so  ready 
to  give  away.  He  overheard  Frederick  whispering 
to  Kathleen  that  he  hoped  he  was  going  to  a  place 
where  he  could  have  enough  money  to  buy  her  the 
right  kind  of  a  present  for  her  next  Christmas,  and 
that  it  was  rotten  luck  to  be  as  poor  as  all  this. 
Mr.  Bingle  strained  his  ears  to  catch  Kathleen's  re 
ply,  and  it  was  such  that  his  face  brightened;  he 
afterwards  sidled  up  to  her  and  stroked  her  hair 
with  loving,  gentle  fingers. 

There  was  one  rather  large,  cumbersome  paste 
board  box  in  the  corner,  which  Diggs  passed  up  to 
him  the  last  of  all. 

"  Don't  open  it  till  to-morrow,  Mr.  Bingle,"  said 
Melissa  in  a  panic,  whereupon  Diggs  jerked  it  away 
from  him  with  more  haste  than  good  manners.  It 
was  marked  quite  plainly :  "  To  Mr.  Bingle  from 
Melissa,"  and  bright  and  early  the  next  morning  it 
turned  out  to  be  a  fur  lined  overcoat. 

Once  more  Melissa  was  dragged  into  the  kitchen, 
this  time  by  the  furtive,  uneasy  Mr.  Force.  While 
they  were  out  of  the  room  a  messenger  boy  came  to 
the  front  door  with  a  small  package  for  Mr.  Bingle. 

"  Ah,  at  last,  something  from  Mary.  I  was  sure 
she  wouldn't  forget  me  on  Christmas  Eve.  She  never 
has  and  I'm  sure  —  Hello!  This  isn't  her  writing. 
6  Monsieur  Thomas  Singleton  Bingle.'  Now  what 
can—" 


THE  LAST  TO  ARRIVE  351 

"  Open  it,  Daddy,"  cried  Kathleen. 

"  Stand  back !  Maybe  it's  an  infernal  machine. 
These  anarchists  are  blowing  up  all  the  rich  men 
in  town  nowadays.  This  may  be  the  end  of  me. 
Ah ! "  He  had  cut  the  string  with  a  carving  knife 
and  now  exposed  to  view  a  box  of  cigars.  There  was 
a  card  attached.  With  some  difficulty  he  made  out : 
"  From  your  life-long  friend,  with  best  wishes  for  a 
Merry  Christmas  and  a  Happy  New  Year."  It  was 
signed  by  "  Napoleon." 

Mr.  Force  had  closed  the  door  behind  him.  He 
spoke  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  after  a  curt  nod  of  the 
head  to  Mrs.  Watson,  who  was  vainly  trying  to  wash 
the  dishes  and  at  the  same  time  see  all  that  was  go 
ing  on  in  the  outer  room. 

"  See  here,  young  woman,  I  want  you  to  give  these 
two  envelopes  to  Mr.  Bingle  when  he  comes  in  to 
breakfast  in  the  morning."  He  produced  two  long 
blue  envelopes  and  thrust  them  into  her  hand.  "  Not 
a  word  to  him  to-night,  d'you  hear?  Put  them  under 
your  pillow  and  sleep  on  'em  —  with  one  eye  open  if 
possible." 

"  Good  gracious,"  she  said,  with  her  broadest  grin, 
"  I  shan't  sleep  for  a  week.  They  look  terribly  im 
portant." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  they  contain,"  said  Mr.  Force, 
after  a  moment.  "  You  ought  to  know  what  you  are 
guarding,  my  girl.  This  one  contains  Kathleen's 
present.  Do  you  remember  that  pretty  little  cot 
tage  and  farm  just  above  my  place  in  the  country? 


352  MR.  BINGLE 

The  cottage  with  the  ivy  and  the  maples  and  the  old 
stone  wall?  Well,  this  is  a  deed  to  that  property. 
It  is  my  daughter's  present  to  her  *  daddy,'  the  gen 
tleman  who  made  her  the  lady  she  is  and  who  has 
just  made  a  new  man  of  Sydney  Force.  This  — " 

"  Gee !  "  exclaimed  Melissa,  pop-eyed  and  trembling 
with  joy.  "  What  next?  Now,  I've  got  to  sleep  on 
a  house  and  lot,  besides  — "  She  caught  herself  up 
in  time. 

"  This  envelope  contains  my  present  to  him.  It  is 
an  appointment  as  manager  and  superintendent  of 
my  estates  in  Westchester  County  and  in  Connecticut 
—  for  life,  Melissa.  You  won't  fail  to  give  them  to 
him  for  breakfast,  will  you  ?  " 

"  God  bless  my  soul ! "  gasped  Melissa,  uncon 
sciously  falling  into  a  life-long  habit  of  the  man 

who  loved  everybody. 

•  •••«•*• 

The  agents  came  at  eight  o'clock,  a  gloomy  man 
in  uniform  and  two  kind-looking,  sweet-faced  women 
in  brown. 

Mr.  Bingle's  voice  broke  occasionally  as  he  read 
"  The  Christmas  Carol "  to  a  silent,  attentive  audi 
ence  made  up  of  Kathleen  and  Sydney  Force,  Melissa, 
Diggs  and  the  two  Watsons.  Fortunately,  he  knew 
the  story  so  well  that  he  was  not  called  upon  to  per 
form  the  impossible.  It  was  seldom  that  he  could 
see  the  print  on  account  of  the  mist  that  lay  in  his 
tired,  forlorn  grey  eyes. 


THE  LAST  TO  ARRIVE  353 

Far  below  in  the  street  outside,  a  half-frozen 
clarinetist  was  sending  up  a  mournful  carol  from  the 
mouth  of  his  reed.  Somewhere  in  the  distance  a 
high-voiced  child  was  singing.  And  the  wind  played 
a  dirge  as  it  marched  past  the  windows  of  the  candle- 
lighted  flat. 

At  last  he  came  to  the  end.  He  laid  the  book 
upon  the  table,  fumbled  for  his  spectacle  case,  and 
contrived  to  smile  as  he  held  out  a  hand  to  Kath 
leen. 

"  You  will  come  every  Christmas  Eve,  won't  you, 
Deary  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  Daddy,"  murmured  Kathleen,  between  the 
sobs  that  Tiny  Tim  had  drawn  from  her  soft  little 
heart.  "  Every  Christmas  Eve,  Daddy?  " 

"  Then  it  won't  be  so  bad  as  it  seems  now,"  he  said 
gently.  Not  a  word  said  he  of  the  nine  children  who 
had  gone  away. 

Mr.  Force  had  glanced  surreptitiously  at  his  watch 
at  least  a  dozen  times  during  the  reading  of  the  story. 
An  anxious  frown  settled  on  his  brow  and  an  observer 
might  have  remarked  the  strange,  listening  attitude 
that  he  affected  at  times,  such  as  the  alert  cocking  of 
his  head  and  an  intense  squinting  of  the  eyes. 

"  Now,  if  my  dear  Mary  could  only  pop  in  on  us 
and — "  but  Mr.  Bingle  choked  up  suddenly  and 
turned  his  attention  to  the  stirring  of  the  coals  in 
the  stove. 

The  door-bell  pealed  again,  this  time  with  surpris 
ing  authority  and  decision.  Mr.  Bingle  started  as 


354  MR.  BINGLE 

if  shot.  As  he  faced  the  little  hall,  his  eyes  were 
wide  with  an  incredulous  stare  of  wonder. 

"  Good  God  in  heaven,"  he  murmured,  "  can  it  be 
possible  that  —  but  no  !  It  cannot  be  Mary.  That 
would  be  too  wonderful.  Watson  —  Melissa,  will  you 
please  see  who's  —  who's  there?  " 

As  rigid  as  a  post  he  stood  over  the  stove,  holding 
the  poker  in  his  hand,  his  eyes  fastened  upon  the 
door  as  Watson  sprang  to  open  it.  The  cheerful 
voice  of  old  Dr.  Fiddler  —  the  great  Dr.  Fiddler  — 
came  roaring  into  the  room  ahead  of  its  owner. 

"  By  the  Lord  Harry,  it's  a  cold  night  —  Hello ! 
What's  this?  Liveried  servants  again?  Well,  upon 
my  soul,  I  —  Ah,  there  you  are,  Bingle!  How  are 
you,  Force  ?  " 

The  next  instant  he  was  wringing  Mr.  Bingle's 
hand  and  booming  Christmas  greetings  to  every  one 
in  hearing  —  and  out  of  it,  for  that  matter,  such  a 
voice  he  had! 

"Mary?  What  —  how  is  she,  Doctor?"  cried 
Mr.  Bingle,  peering  beyond  the  bulky  form  of  the 
doctor  as  if  expecting  to  see  his  wife  in  the  little 
hallway. 

"Fine  as  a  fiddle,"  said  Dr.  Fiddler,  using  a  pet 
and  somewhat  personal  phrase. 

"  No  —  no  bad  news  ?  "  stammered  Mr.  Bingle. 
"  You're  not  trying  to  break  anything  gently  to  me, 
are  you  ?  " 

"  Gently  ?  "    roared    the    doctor.     "  Does    a    rhi- 


THE  LAST  TO  ARRIVE  355 

noceros  break  things  gently?"  He  threw  off  his 
great  ulster  and  began  jerking  at  his  gloves.  "  Just 
thought  I'd  run  down  to  see  you,  Bingle.  Christmas 
Eve  comes  but  once  a  year.  Hope  I'm  not  too  late 
for  the  Carol.  I  missed  hearing  it  last  year,  and  — " 

"  If  you'll  swear  to  me  that  Mary  is  all  right,  I'll 
• —  I'll  read  it  over  again,"  cried  Mr.  Bingle. 

"  I  swear  it  on  my  word  as  a  gentleman,"  said 
Fiddler,  "but  for  heaven's  sake  don't  read  it  over 
again.  I'll  take  it  for  granted.  Besides  I  always 
cry  when  we  get  to  the  Tiny  Tim  part,  so  —  I  say, 
Force,  don't  you  cry  ?  " 

"  I  did  to-night,"  said  Sydney  Force,  his  face 
beaming. 

"And  you,  Diggs?" 

"  Like  a  blooming  baby,  sir,"  said  Diggs,  and  Wat 
son  blew  his  nose  violently. 

"  Doctor,  I  thought  for  a  moment  that  it  was  Mary 
at  the  door,"  said  Mr.  Bingle  slowly.  He  was  still 
trembling. 

"  Oh,  she  won't  be  here  for  a  couple  of  weeks, 
Bingle  —  perhaps  three.  But  she's  coming,  old  man 
—  coming  with  banners  flying  and  bells  on  her  toes. 
'Gad,  you  won't  know  her  when  you  see  her  to-mor 
row."  He  sent  a  quick,  frowning  glance  around  the 
room.  "  They 're  gone,  eh  ?  All  of 'em?  Good!  I 
must  tell  you  in  advance,  Bingle,  that  Mrs.  Bingle  will 
have  to  bring  a  nurse  with  her  —  for  a  while,  at  least. 
So,  you  see,  we'll  need  all  the  room  — " 


356  MR.  BINGLE 

"  A  nurse  ?  Oh,  my  Lord  1 "  gasped  Mr.  Bingle, 
dropping  into  a  chair  as  his  knees  gave  way  beneath 
him.  "  Is  —  is  it  as  bad  as  that  ?  " 

"  Cheer  up !  "  cried  the  doctor,  laying  a  hand  upon 
his  shoulder,  and  suddenly  giving  him  a  violent  shake. 
"  Nothing  to  be  alarmed  over,  I  give  you  my  word. 
She's  as  fine  as  a  fiddle,  I  tell  you.  And  now,  give 
me  a  full  glass  of  that  amazing  egg-nogg  you  make, 
Bingle.  I'm  frozen  to  the  bone." 

"Egg-nogg?"  murmured  Mr.  Bingle,  helplessly. 
"  Why,  God  bless  my  soul,  I  —  I  never  thought  of  it. 
Melissa,  have  we  any  whiskey  in  the  house?  No,  of 
course  not  —  and  we  have  no  cream,  I  fear,  so  — " 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  interrupted  Diggs,  "  we  'ave  all 
of  the  hingredients.  Watson  'appened  to  think  of 
the  cold  trip  'ome,  sir." 

"  Sit  down,  then,"  cried  Mr.  Bingle.  "  I'U  mix  the 
grog  for  you,  Doctor,  in  two  shakes  of  a  lamb's  tail." 

He  flew  into  the  kitchen.  Instantly  Mr.  Force  had 
Dr.  Fiddler  by  the  arm.  The  others  crowded  close 
about  the  pair. 

"  How  is  it,  Doctor?     All  right?  " 

"Wonderful!"  whispered  Dr.  Fiddler.  "She 
would  have  her  own  way  about  it,  and,  by  gad,  I  think 
she  was  inspired,  now  that  it's  turned  out  so  beauti 
fully.  Half-past  six  this  morning.  She's  a  strong, 
perfect  woman.  I've  got  my  car  waiting  downstairs 
and  as  soon  as  I've  broken  the  news  to  him  by  de 
grees —  don't  want  him  to  knock  under  completely. 


THE  LAST  TO  ARRIVE  357 

you  know  —  I'm  going  to  take  him  up  to  the  hos 
pital." 

Melissa  leaned  forward,  her  eyes  gleaming. 

"  Boy  or  girl,  Doctor  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  A  boy,  God  bless  him,"  said  Dr.  Fiddler. 


THE    END 


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